


No One's Here To Sleep

by spaceywaffles



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: 1935, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Crime and Investigation, Dark Steve Rogers, Depression, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Steve Rogers Has Issues, Stony - Freeform, The Author Regrets Everything, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark-centric, World Wars, dark themes, death and destruction, now with a pinch of Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-18 20:09:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4718897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceywaffles/pseuds/spaceywaffles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony doesn't believe in destruction, he believes in the future. Too bad he inherited that weapon manufacture and too bad there's another world war approaching. That's when he meets a mysterious army captain. </p><p>Or:</p><p>That Vampire AU no one asked for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sparks

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again to my dear beta reader [lotticorn](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lotticorn) who has to put up with a lot when it comes to me. 
> 
> Title taken from a song by Naughty Boy and Bastille
> 
> Also note that not everything in this fic is historically correct, I hope it doesn't bother too many of you :)

The day Howard Stark died Tony had been indulging himself on a glorious party, scotch in his hand and a beautiful redhead in his lap. She had been whispering sweet nothings into his ears when one of the servants had approached them, cutting Tony’s evening short.  
He still remembered his ride to the funeral and the shocked stares of the attendants. Everyone knew his relationship with his father had been disastrous and over the years Tony had managed to become the family disappointment - still a bachelor at the age of 35, a debaucher who didn't serve in the war because of a weak heart. A man who refused to build weapons for the government, even though this was what his father, a genius when it came to engineering, had taught him his whole life. They ignored the fact that he had practically revolutionized public transportation and that the government was still gaining benefit from that. But they were really good at ignoring things in general.  
It was one of the darkest days Tony had ever witnessed: rain pouring down from the heavens like thick grey curtains that ricocheted from the black umbrellas every funeral guest had brought except for him.  
He heard them whisper, asking why he was even there. But Tony didn't feel the need to justify himself. He kept staring at the words on the newly carved gravestone: _Here lie Howard Anthony Walter Stark and Maria Collins Carbonell Stark in loving memory_

A car accident. Howard himself behind the wheel. Technology was always just as good as the one who wielded it.

Tony clenched his hands into fists and watched the coffins slowly descend into the ground. He waited for everyone else to leave for the funeral banquet and finally released a long breath. His tailored suit clung to his frame and he lifted his head towards the sky, the rain pattering down on his face. He knew if he opened his mouth now and tried to scream the water would pour into his mouth and leave him choking for breath, some of it would maybe even find its way into his lungs. He would cough and it would hurt and he was craving for it. He wanted to break things. Pretty things. Important things. Like grave stones for example. There was nothing wrong with punching one until the stone would eventually give in or with turning his own hands into nothing but a bloody mess. He wanted to faint, to feel the same powerlessness on his body his mind was experiencing. Eventually he only closed his eyes, ready to cry out and feel the faint sour taste of New York City rain on his tongue. But when he opened his mouth there was nothing.  
He blinked looking at the underside of an umbrella.

“I’m sorry. Am I interrupting something?” a voice next to him said.

Tony turned around and looked into the eyes of a stranger. A man his age, maybe even younger. A little taller than him, blond, blue eyes. Like the ocean…  
He pulled himself back into reality.

“I - uhm - no…thank you”

The stranger smiled softly and turned towards the grave. “I knew your father.”

Tony gulped and took a shaking breath. “I figured as much.” Everyone was here for Howard. It was as if Maria hadn't even existed. As if she had been nothing more but a shadow next to her husband. And yet she had been that one ray of hope in Tony's life. Why did no one acknowledge her? She had been full of compassion and love and so… alive. But no, everybody had only had eyes for Howard, a man who had built the deadliest weapons for the government regardless of who they actually killed in the end. A man who had socialized with the most questionable people in the US.

“Your father was a genius.” the stranger said and Tony wanted to laugh in response, but he was cut short, when the stranger kept speaking. “… but a cold man.”

Tony looked up at him and blinked. “You know, you’re actually the first person here with the balls to say something like that.”

The stranger smiled and turned back towards him. “Steve Rogers. And my deepest condolences for your loss.”

Tony was surprised by how sincere it sounded. “The loss of my father or my mother?”

“Both.”

“Thank you.” He stared at the man in bewilderment. “I-… I’m Anthony Stark.”

“I know who you are, Tony. Otherwise I wouldn’t have said that or would I?” Another smile and the stranger pressed the handle of the umbrella against Tony’s chest and left with a small wave of his hand but he wasn’t following the other guests.

“I don’t know… you tell me…” Tony mumbled and fumbled with the umbrella so it wouldn't fall to the ground.  
He nearly jumped when someone cleared his throat behind him and turned around to find Jarvis, their family butler and the person who had basically raised Tony together with Maria. Tony knew that Jarvis had been the one who had organized the funeral, the one who had answered all the uncomfortable questions. His face was stricken with grief, his eyes watery. He gave Tony one of the saddest smiles he had ever seen. “Excuse me, Sir, would you follow me, please. The notary is about to announce your father’s will.”

Tony gulped. “I’m sorry, Jarvis… I was gone for far too long. I should have taken care of this…”

“You’re here now, Sir.”

Tony hugged him tightly and he felt the old man go limb in his arms, little sobs shaking him and Tony wanted to cry too, but his body denied him even a single tear.  
They stayed like this for a while until Jarvis petted his back “You should hurry, Sir.”

He followed him to the mansion and endured the whole ordeal of the notary reading things to him and some of Howard’s closest friends and them gasping and whining that Tony had inherited the company, the estate and the fortune.  
He was a little surprised himself and his first impulse was to reject it, but then he thought of the main mansion and everything that was in there, all those pictures and the art his mother had bought over the years and her dresses and everything nice in his childhood. In the end he accepted the will, leaving the room to its choir of mumbles and gossip.

Jarvis urged him to make an appearance at the banquet as soon as he got a change of clothes. But before long, Obadiah Stane approached him, a small cake in either of his hands. “So, you’re one of us now.” He said between bites. “You better start wanting to build weapons then.”

Tony had settled for a cup of coffee. He was soaked to the bone and tried to keep the shaking at bay. He knew Jarvis was already on his way to get dry clothes for him. It wouldn’t take long. This was one of their bigger houses after all. He had been here several times in the last years.

“I only own the company, Mr. Stane. I don’t work for it.”

Stane raised an eyebrow at him. He obviously wasn’t used to objections and he grabbed a glass a wine from the tray one of the waiters was offering them. Tony desperately wished for something stronger and he would get to it, later, when all the vultures were gone. So he declined and looked back at Stane. Obadiah had worked with Howard for years, but Tony had never figured out whether they had been friends too.  
Judging by the greedy look he was giving him now, Tony decided for no.

“Well since you own the company, Tony, you should take care of it. They say the situation in Europe is seething again. I give it a few more years…Do you know who the government turns to when it escalates again? Stark Industries.” He grabbed Tony’s shoulder, squeezed it a little too hard for comfort and Tony winced at the touch. “You better play your part, son, cause I’d hate to make you and I can be very persuasive.” He was leaning over now, his voice almost a whisper. For anyone else it might have looked like a comforting gesture, Obadiah with a sad smile on his lips, his hand stroking the wet fabric on Tony’s shoulder… But Tony knew a threat when he saw one.

He nodded slowly and tried to get some distance between himself and Stane and put on his best poster fake-smile. “Well, shouldn’t you be glad I won’t be in your way, Mr. Stane? You can do with this company whatever the hell you want. I don’t want it. Find enough money and buy it, for all I care.” Stane finally let go of him. He wasn't satisfied with Tony’s response and there would be an aftermath. Tony knew it. He could see it in his eyes, but Stane simply gave him a nod and a predatory smile and left in favor of socializing with the other hypocrites.

Tony had this vision of the future - bright and new and full of intelligence and wit, but sadly he was born into the wrong world for that. This wasn’t a world of innovation and advancements. It was one of deceit and adder’s tongues and pressing the flesh until he would throw up and throwing up was exactly what he felt like right now.  
He knew it would one day outrun him, this empire his father had built. It was attached to his heels like a shadow and Tony didn’t want to stop running, but he was tired, so very tired…

He left.

—

He decided to ignore the company for now. Stane would sooner or later feel the need to contact him and probably not leave him alone for days. So he spent the time being with generally nothing. For several days he just locked himself in the study and tried to drink away the nagging feeling inside his chest. Everything was meaningless now. He had wasted years trying to get away from everything connected to Stark Industries in any way only to hit it headfirst now. His mother was gone just like anything he had built up himself. It was in vain - nothing more but a fleeting thought and he couldn’t say goodbye to any of it… not even to her.

After another week of lingering and he had finally mustered up enough courage to visit the main estate.  
He hadn't visited his parent’s home since the day Howard had sent him to boarding school. All the other times he had seen his parents had been in one of their city houses.  
The main Stark estate was located on a small island, just the mansion, vast amounts of green and the sea. Howard had needed the isolation. After all it wasn't easy to steal super secret weapons, when all the blueprints and documents were located on a forsaken island and suddenly Tony remembered why he had felt lonely for the longest part of his childhood.  
But this was also the place where his mother had read stories to him, where her beautiful voice had sung him to sleep and the place where she had prayed with him to a god he no longer believed in.

The ride to the coast had been a silent one. Tony didn’t feel like talking and Jarvis respected that.  
They had to pay a fisherman to take them to the island. His name was James Norris and Tony vaguely remembered him from some trips to the mainland with Maria. Norris was small, chubby with a big nose and a scrubby beard. The perfect picture of a fisherman.  
He smiled when he spotted Tony. “Oi! Mr. Stark! Over ‘ere!” He nodded in appreciation. “Quite the handsome lad you’ve turned into, eh?” Tony nodded himself. “Listen. I heard what happened to your parents. They were nice people. Really nice people…”  
Tony sat down and waited for Jarvis to pay the man and sit next to him. It didn't take long for them to set off and Tony busied himself with staring at the ocean. Even on a dull day like this it held unbelievable beauty and power.

“You arrived just in time. Winter’s approachin’ and soon the sea’ll be a mess. Just a few more days, I tell ya.” Mr. Norris tried to keep the conversation going, but Tony shut himself off, breathed the salty air and tried not to think of his parents. The small boat needed 20 minutes to cross the distance between the mainland und Stark Island. The isle emerged from the waves like a black colossus. Tony knew how deadly those cliffs were, he had been told many times as a child. It had been fuel to his nightmares. He hadn't been save from it even in his bed in boarding school. The black giant would follow him everywhere, grab him and pull him back into the small room, Howard had prepared for him to study in.  
Seeing it now would only make sure the black monstrosity would return to his dreams.

They docked on a small wooden boat bridge and Tony got off the boat with more than a little regret. There was no turning back now. His chauffeur was already waiting for them at the car that would bring them to the mansion. Tony grabbed his bags and swung them into his chauffeur’s hands. “So what do you think?”

Happy balanced the bags in his arms making for the car trunk. They swayed dangerously to either side until he finally dumped them inside. He really wasn’t a gentle man. Tony was glad his fragile baggage had already been delivered a week before his arrival.  
Happy gave him a questioning look. “Pardon?”

“Stark Island. What do you think about it?” Tony repeated and Happy immediately looked torn. Tony smiled a little. His old home had that kind of impact on people.

“Well, it’s certainly grand, Sir. But if I may say so?”

“Go ahead.”

“It’s creepy. I’m sure I saw a ghost or something, the other day. 

Tony chuckled. “I’m glad to see you, Happy.” He really was. He considered him a friend even if he was one of his employees and he was glad to be surrounded by friends right now. 

He waved to Mr. Norris. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

Happy nodded and they got into the car, waiting for Jarvis who exchanged a last few words with the fisherman.

The car-ride felt like time travel. Too many memories reemerged from the depths of Tony’s subconscious and clawed their way into the present: A stroll with Maria. His parents fighting at what should have been a family picnic. Howard’s hand slipping. Closed doors. So many closed doors and screams in the dark of the night. Screams no one could explain or dared to.

“Here we are.” Happy said matter-of-factly and Tony snapped back into reality. The car was parked in front of the mansion. All the curtains were drawn. The house looked lifeless and cold. A corpse. Tony gulped. He earned a corpse. If he hadn't been so eager to keep it together he would have broken out in hysterical laughter that moment. Instead he took a deep breath.

“Thank you, Happy.” Tony left the car and slowly made for the door, leaving his baggage to Jarvis and Happy. The door handle felt cold and heavy in his hand as if the house was refusing to let him in. He mustered up all his remaining energy and finally entered his old home.  
The foyer looked uncharacteristically dusty and gloomy. His parents hadn't been in the area when the accident had happened but the servants should have kept the place clean.

“They are grieving too, Sir, but they will return in a few days.” Jarvis responded to Tony’s questioning look. “For now it’s just you, Mr. Hogan and me. But if you’re feeling uncomfortable-…”

“No… it’s okay. It’s just… unfamiliar?” Tony gnawed on his bottom lip and Jarvis nodded.

“Would you like to stay in your old room?”

“No! …no, I’ll take one of the guest rooms.”

Jarvis nodded again and led Happy who was balancing the bags in his arms towards the guest wing. 

Tony slowly went up the grand staircase towards the private chambers. It was the first time he realized how ridiculously big this house was. He pressed his hands against the giant wooden double door leading towards the living room until it gave by. The room felt the most silent. Howard’s big armchair looked dusty but almost unused and rested next to the cold fireplace. The walls were specked with photographs - mostly Tony and Maria. They portrayed Howard’s absence perfectly and this time he couldn't suppress the laughter. This house was like the reflection of everything that had gone wrong in his family. Every room told a story. He should keep it that way… open a museum or something!  
He dropped into the armchair, still laughing with both hands on his stomach. This whole situation was ridiculous. He was sitting in his father’s chair. The one he had never been allowed to even touch! In a house far too big for him somewhere on a lonely island, because the brakes of the car of Howard Stark - one of the greatest fucking engineers of their time – hadn’t worked!  
He couldn't stop laughing until the laughing turned to sobbing and he realized far too late that he was finally able to cry.

—

He woke up the next morning to the sound of people shouting. He slipped into a bathrobe and followed the noise into the foyer, which was filled with people in uniform. The police. Two men in suits were standing in front of Happy, one of them arguing loudly. The other one saw Tony first.

“What’s all this?” Tony asked and Happy spun around, an apologetic look on his face. Tony smiled softly and nodded him to go. 

“Ah! Mr. Stark I presume”, said one of the men and he practically shoved his badge into Tony’s face. “Federal Bureau of Investigation, Agent Coulson and Barton.” He nodded towards his partner.

Tony raised an eyebrow and Agent Barton spoke: “We’re the former Division of Investigation. Got a new name this year. People still don’t really get it though. Maybe we should call it just the FBI. That’s at least short and people can remember short stuff.”

Tony nodded slowly and turned back towards Agent Coulson. “How can I be of help, gentlemen?”

“At 9:00 AM this morning the mutilated body of a man was washed to the shores of the main land. Since there are no other islands around here we would like to have a look around.”  
Agent Coulson fished a small notepad from the chest pocket of his suit. Whereas Coulson seemed unbelievably calm, Barton was twitchy and nervous, ready to go into action.

Tony shrugged a little. “Go ahead.” He had nothing to hide. Anything incriminating was Howard’s anyway and he doubted his father had left anything important lying around in his lab. Howard had been paranoid. He must have hidden everything.

Coulson nodded and Barton and a few of the other officers set off. “Mind if I ask some questions?” He flipped the notepad open and revealed a small pencil.

“No I don’t but I doubt that we can be of any help, we arrived here yesterday. This isn't my house… well it is…now. I inherited it from my parents who died two weeks ago. Right now there is only me and two of my employees on this island.” Tony watched Coulson closely. The man’s face was as if it was sculptured from clay - unable to move and he looked at Tony with calculating eyes. There was intelligence there and fierceness in the way he clenched his jaw. “But you know that already. Don’t you? The story was in the papers after all.”

“Yes. We already knew about that. Still, I have to ask you: Where were you two days ago between 8 and 9 PM?”

“In our New York City residence preparing for the journey. So was Mr. Jarvis, my butler and Mr. Hogan, my chauffeur.” He sighed once. “Mr. Hogan had headed off earlier than us. I believe it was around 8 AM? But since you asked about the day before yesterday I reckon our alibi is sufficient. Will that be all?” Tony smiled as charmingly as could manage and finally got a reaction out of the man’s face, even if it only was a twitch of an eyebrow.

“Yes…that would be all, Mr. Stark. Except if you have seen anything unusual.”

“No, nothing that I know off. I am sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about, Mr. Stark. We will leave as soon as the search is completed. It won’t take long.” Coulson nodded again and closed the notepad, pocketing it right where it and the pencil came from. He smiled but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

Tony looked around. “Well, while your officers are looking for a murder weapon…can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?”

Coulson shook his head. “No, thank you. But go ahead, eat your breakfast and have a nice day, Mr. Stark.” 

Tony nodded lightly. “I hope you find whoever is responsible for this.” He didn't wait for an answer and made for the dining room. Breakfast was already served and he sat down, grabbing the newspaper. Mr. Norris must have brought it together with fresh food and dairy. There were still articles on the future of Stark Industries. Most of them questioned his capability of leading the biggest weapon’s manufacture in the US. There were right. He couldn't lead a company like this.  
He had seen what those weapons could do- the vast amounts of destruction. The military couldn't handle the power given to them - to simply push a button and end dozens of lives with one strike. There was no head to head combat in the field anymore, just explosions and body parts.  
Tony knew that some of those weapons consisted of components he had invented himself. But he had been just a child, unable to understand the cruelty of war and eager to impress his father.  
And Howard had accepted his gift and had turned it into a death sentence for hundreds of people, thousands.  
He wouldn't be a part of this now. He wouldn't build them bigger and even more powerful bombs and indestructible tanks.  
He emptied his coffee in one go, put the newspaper aside and left the room. 

His mother had spent a lot of time in Howard’s study since his father had mostly occupied the basement where his lab was located.  
The study was something like a small library with a desk in it. Right now it was surely the dustiest place in the mansion but it was also the place where Maria had kept all her individual photographs, the ones that were more on the personal side.  
The corridors in the mansion all looked the same; he found the room on first try nevertheless. He opened the door and was welcomed by dust particles floating through the air, pretending to be fairy dust or something equally mythical. A few stubborn sunrays fought their way through the curtains, illuminating the room just enough so one could even try to read.  
It was filled with the unmistakable scent of old books. The smell of wisdom.  
Tony smiled softly and immediately made for the desk, opened the first drawer that revealed an old yellow tea box and he gently took it, sitting down at the desk and pulling off the lid. It was filled to the brim with old photographs. A few of them fell out and Tony had to bow down to pick them back up. So many smiling people looked back at him. Maria and her friends. Howard when he was younger, celebrating with his friends. Sometimes he thought the faces of the young people in the pictures looked familiar. But his mind often played him tricks like that. He pulled out another photograph. Tony himself as a child. Another one of him holding his mother’s hand. One of him and Jarvis. His parent’s wedding. So, so many memories and a whole lot of them not even his but memories of dead people. He found himself wondering how many of those people had lost their lives in the war… How many of them had died of sickness…How many were still alive? Grandparents by now… would they remember that particular moment? Or was it something they didn’t even perceive as something important. He would never find out, but the thoughts accompanied him as he drifted back into the comforting hands of sleep.

—

He woke up to the sound of knocking on the door. It was past sunset and the room was dark. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes.  
 “What’s the matter, Jarvis?” he yawned. “The FBI still here?”

“No, Sir, but you have a visitor.”   
“I have a what?” Now he blinked even more. “At this hour? And I don’t look presentable. Send them home.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible. We’re on an island, we have to wait until at least tomorrow morning when Mr. Norris brings the groceries.”

Tony sighed. “Who is this then?”

“A Mr. Rogers, Sir.”

“Rogers? I don’t know no Rogers.” Okay this was ridiculous, especially since no one really knew he was here right now. His mind briefly flickered towards the body the police had found at the shore. “…let me handle that, Jarvis.”

“I hope so, Sir. Because he insists on you greeting him yourself.”

Tony stood and tied the bathrobe tighter. “Does he look frightening?”

“Strong? Yes. Frightening? No.”

“Okay… that’s a good sign isn’t it?” He nodded to himself. “Murderers have to have a scary feel.”

“I doubt that’s how it works, Sir. But I also doubt he’s a murderer.”

“Good.” Tony left the room, Jarvis in tow, strode through the corridors and descended the staircase. Rogers…. Rogers… Now that he thought about it… There was something…

The entrance was wide open and a young man was standing at the doorsill. Blond. Blue ey-…wait!  
“Steve Rogers, right?”

Rogers smiled at him. “Just Steve, please.”

Tony nodded. “That can only be fair since you’ve already taken the liberty of going on a first name basis with me.” He eyed him. “Are you here for your umbrella?”

Rogers shook his head. “I was in the area. Thought I might as well visit this place. This house means… a lot of memories to me.”

“Well obviously not the kind with me around or we would have met sooner. But tell me, do you often get an untamable urge to visit empty houses at night, cause that sounds a little suspicious to me.”

Rogers laughed. “I asked the fisherman - the one who brings the groceries? And he told me you were actually here for the next weeks so I thought I might check up on you, too. And I’m glad I did. You seem better.”

Tony had to blink a few times. “Uhm… okay… thank you. What am I doing? You’re a guest. Obviously. Come in. You’ll catch a cold standing in there the whole night.”

Rogers seemed incredibly relieved. Tony knew he had a bad reputation but he never would have thought that cold-hearted was a part of it. He ushered Steve inside and gestured at his own outfit. “Well, as you can see, I wasn’t prepared for company and most of my servants are still on leave… But tell you what? I’ll change clothes and we can still have a drink. Just follow Jarvis to the…” He paused. Dining room? Ballroom? “…the living room. I’d like to drink there.” He turned towards Jarvis. “And light the fireplace. Mr. Rogers must be freezing to death right now.”

Jarvis nodded. “Yes, Sir. Mr. Rogers if you would be so kind to give me your coat and follow me, please.”

Steve Rogers smiled and followed the old man and Tony waited until they were out of sight to run to his room and change into a suit. He tried to get his hair back under control and trimmed his beard until it was perfectly sculptured.  
If he had a guest he’d better behave like the incredible host he was and interrogate the Rogers - in a charming way of course. But that man didn’t honestly believe Tony was buying the whole charade. Rogers wanted something from him. It was the golden rule of life: _No one is for free._  
So most likely he wanted money. It didn’t matter. Tony would find out.  
This was the first time in days he had actually felt like he wanted to do something, be productive in some way and he smiled at his own reflection. Norris was right. He was handsome. It was time to put his looks to good use they worked on everyone after all.  
He gave himself one last examining look and went to join Rogers.  
“Again, I’m sorry. I shouldn't have kept you waiting.”

“No really it wasn't a problem.”

“What do you want to drink?” He went over to the minibar Jarvis had prepared for them.

“I take whatever you are having.” Rogers smiled.

“Adaptable. I’ve got an excellent scotch. Believe me. If only I knew where I bought it.” He gave Rogers a dashing smile over his shoulder. “I probably would have bought the whole store.”  
Rogers just sat there smiling and him without even trying to enter on the topic of money.

Tony nodded a little to himself and gave him a tumbler with scotch. “So… you knew my father. How?”

Roger accepted to tumbler and took a sip, averting his eyes from Tony. “My father worked with him.” A lie then.

“Your father is a scientist.”

“Was. He died in the war.” Still no eye contact. This was getting interesting.

“What’s his name - was - I never heard of a Doctor Rogers and in which field?”

“Oh! No… he wasn't famous. Nothing like your father. His expertise was… um… bio- chemistry.”

Tony frowned. “Why would someone like him work with my father?” 

“They didn't work together for long. Just a few creative sessions.” Rogers nodded to himself. He was lying. Tony could feel it. But something in the way he said it made Tony believe that at least parts of it were true.

Tony had to sit down.

“Mr. Rogers… Steve, just…um..” His nausea returned with a devastating intensity and he had to take a big gulp of the scotch to fight it back down. “Just a question. Was my father working on a biological weapon?”

Rogers finally met his eyes again and stared at him for a few solid seconds. “That’s a question I don’t know the answer to, Tony.” It was the truth. Tony emptied his scotch with a few more gulps.

“You know what? Let’s stop talking about…dads, shall we? How about some music? Jarvis? Jazz us up a little. Drop the needle!” He swiped a hand over his face and took a deep breath, forcing himself to a smile.

He saw Jarvis in the corner of his eyes looking through the vinyls and going over to the phonograph. “What about Louis Armstrong, Sir?”

Tony nodded and waved his hand. “Drop it.” The calming tunes of _Dream a Little Dream of Me_ filled the room shortly after.

“Never took you for a love-song person”, Rogers chuckled.

“Oh, I’m a romantic. But people generally don’t get that. Another one for you too?” He pointed towards his empty tumbler and Rogers shook his head so Tony got up to fix only a single drink.

Rogers nipped on his own. “So what are your plans now?”

Tony shrugged. “Nothing. Have to deal with all…” He gestured around. “…all this, don’t I?”

“But just imagine if you didn't have to.” Rogers smiled. “What would you do?”

“Energy.”

“Energy?”

Tony nodded. “My visions are more about life. Not death. Not weapons. I am thinking about cities. Self-sustaining. Which means they produce the energy they use themselves. And it’d be clean. No big black clouds over factories. And machines that can do the hard work for people. Like cars…only better. Multifunctional. No broken backs anymore. And they’d be powered by the same clean energy.” He smiled for real now and sipped his scotch. “It sounds crazy, doesn't it?”

Rogers laughed. “Yes.”

“It’s a silly little dream. But I actually worked on some prototypes” He smiled into the tumbler thinking about this little future city of his. His father had once dreamed about flying cars only to turn them into bombs in the end. Tony feared that maybe it was his fate to become just like him.

“Sometimes a little crazy is exactly what people need.” Rogers nodded his eyes lost somewhere in middle distance until he looked at Tony again. “Self-sustaining cities… I like that. Call me if you need someone to do the muscle work.” He smiled.

“Speaking of which? What do you do?”

“I’m a soldier. A Captain actually.”  
“Guess I should call you Captain Rogers then.”

“I told you, it’s Steve.”

“How about… Cap?”

“I can live with that.”

Tony set the scotch aside. This was bad. Rogers was charming and really sparked his interest. He always fell for the lying types. In the worst case, Rogers was some murderer either on his escape trying to keep a low profile or Tony, Jarvis and Happy were his next victims. In the best case he was somehow trying to get to the money. A thief maybe.  
But right now, Tony really wanted to believe that he was an army captain, who somehow knew his dad and liked his vision of the future.

“I have to show you this song!” Tony exclaimed suddenly and Jarvis saw this as his cue to withdraw. Well, he had spent enough time with Tony to know that he generally didn’t care about physical details as long as the total package felt right. He really appreciated that. He had never told his father. Tony didn't want to waste any more thoughts on him and made a beeline for the phonograph. “It’s my favorite song right now, that’s why I even brought it here to this godforsaken place.” He sighed softly. “It’s called _Summertime_ \- I know wrong season- but just listen to it. It’s from this new opera I saw the other day and I paid a lot of money to have it recorded.” The song started and he closed his eyes. “Listen… this is the future right there. I tell you this is gonna be a hit someday.” He opened his eyes only to find Rogers staring at him.  
“Let’s dance.”

Rogers blinked. “W-what?”

“Come on!” He approached him slowly. “Ain’t nothing sinful about a little dance.” He held out his hands towards the Captain. 

It took sometime but eventually Rogers stood and gently took his hands. “How are we gonna do this?”

Tony laughed. “I honestly don’t care. You make up your mind. I’m fine with whatever.”

They started to sway a little, just holding hands with their eyes locked. And Tony waited. After a minute of swaying Rogers took a step forward and freed one of his hands only to slip it around Tony’s hip and Tony let his hand slide up towards Roger’s shoulder. He smiled in triumph.  
“We can switch places next time if you want.”

Rogers chuckled. “So I passed the test? I am allowed to visit more than once?”

“To be honest, I think you might be the only person eager to visit this place. And I even don’t know why. You’re a mystery.”

“The song is beautiful. Thank you for sharing it with me.” 

Tony smiled at that. He would find out. Sooner or later.

The recording stopped and both of them stepped back, but Tony didn’t release Roger’s hands.

“Thank _you_ for that dance.” He brought the Captain’s hands to his lips, brushing the ghost of a kiss against his fingers. “Have a good night.” He finally let go. “I will leave first.”

He left the room with a warm smile on his lips.

—

He was actually looking forward to breakfast with Rogers, but when he entered the dining room he reckoned that the table had only been set for a single person. He looked at Jarvis.  
“Where’s Rogers? I didn't imagine him, did I?”

“No, Sir. He called the mainland and left even before sunrise. But he left you a message.” Jarvis handed him a small envelope and Tony tore it open immediately revealing a small card saying only a single sentence: _I look forward to more glimpses of the future - SR_

“Beautiful handwriting…”

He filled himself a cup of coffee not even bothering to sit down. 

Jarvis sighed. “It’s good to see you back to your old self, Sir.”

Tony grinned. “I will eat later. I’m in the study.” He took the card and the coffee with him, setting the cup on the desk, after entering to room and lay the card on top of the yellow tea box still resting in the sunbathed part of the desk.

His mysterious captain… that was something he could work with. He paced through the room. But where did one start when it came to finding out an identity? Since Rogers really seemed to be a soldier he could use his military contacts. And he could ask a few of Howard’s old colleagues whether they knew a biochemist named Rogers.

He came to a stop when he discovered something white poking out from under one of the bookshelves. He bowed down and carefully freed what turned out to be a photograph. It must have fallen out when he had opened the tea box the day before. He was looking at the white backside of it. His mother’s delicate handwriting said _June 22 1915_.  
Twenty years ago. He flipped the picture and held his breath. His father and a few scientists he had never seen before were standing right next to a person who looked exactly like the Steve Rogers he had seen just a few hours ago.

Well. That’s how easy one could find the first clue to solving the puzzle of the mysterious captain.


	2. Flickers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony looks for answers and finds a lot he didn't sign up for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's been a while. *cough*  
> I'm really sorry! A lot had happened in real life. I lost a job, got a new one, started on my thesis and art/film school declined my application. But I'm back and more than motivated to update regularly.  
> So, hello historical inaccuracy!  
> ALSO: TW for dark themes and violence

“Did Captain Rogers look familiar to you?”

Jarvis looked down at him, frowning. Tony wasn’t sure if it was at the wine bottle in his hands or at Tony in general. “Yes, of course, Sir” He dusted the banister rail in slow, idle motions as if he was trying to stretch the act in favor of overseeing Tony. The latter looked at him, hope flaring up in his chest as he bent up gingerly from where he was lying in the middle of the foyer. He had been admiring the relief at the ceiling. It was subtle in comparison to others he had seen but had never given it much attention as a child. Now, however, the delicate lines of flowers intertwined with each other decorated with gold specks wherever it fitted. Somehow he couldn't picture that it was based on his mother’s influence alone. This whole inheritance turned out to be quite the self- discovery.  
“He was at the funeral, wasn’t he?” Jarvis’ puzzled voice pulled him back from the fuzzy place that was his mind lately.

Tony fell back towards the floor. “That’s not what I meant.” He folded his hands on his stomach the bottle standing next to him and continued tracing gold lines on plaster. The floor felt like solid ice against his back and he was likely to catch a cold or worse if he kept lying here, but he couldn't care less. It was a mesmerizing perspective. _The way it was meant to be seen_ , some part of him thought.

“Then what do you mean, Sir?”

“I found an old photograph… of our fathers actually. He looks exactly like him, his father I mean. Funny, isn’t it? And do you know what’s even funnier?” He finally sat up and Jarvis looked relieved. Tony wasn’t but he was finally returning from the land of vague memories. “They have been friends or colleagues…or whatever… and you’re our family butler, Jarvis.” He looked at him as if he had just stated a perfect argument.

A small fond smile appeared on Jarvis’ lips and went on with dusting a painting. Tony hadn’t even noticed him leaving the railing. “I’m afraid I cannot follow, Sir.”

Tony blinked and retraced his own thoughts. “There is nothing you don’t know about because there is no one you don’t know. Yet here we are.” He stood and started pacing through the big room, his brain slowly starting to function within normal perimeters and Tony had suddenly lost any interest in the wine bottle beside him. “I mean, I have proof our fathers knew each other.”

“Why is this so important to you, Sir?”

Tony stopped dead. “Because…” He didn't even dare to think the whole notion through but gulped and fled towards the window front instead, aiming for nonchalance but failing miserably. Jarvis’ eyes followed the motion, his eyebrows drawn deep in sudden worry.  
Tony pretended to focus on the landscape unfolding right in front of him but his look ricocheted on cold windows searching for the ghost of Jarvis’ reflection in them. The windows alone were enough to illuminate the whole foyer and were easily twice Tony’s size. In the summer, they allowed the warm sunlight into the comfortless walls of the house. In the winter, however, they made it impossible to make this place look anything like a home drowning the halls in the never-ending greyscale of the colder months. No light source Tony could ever find was strong enough to fight the eerie spirit of the island.  
He touched the cold glass. He had found Jarvis’ and he was still looking his way. Sighing to himself as if in surrender he let his forehead join his hand on the window. “Firstly it’s a distraction and a welcome one. I mean, you have seen the guy.”

Jarvis snorted. “And secondly, Sir?” But the worry didn't leave his eyes.

“Secondly…” He sighed a felt his muscles tense with only the thought of what his father might have done in his mind. “Rogers said his father had been a biochemist and he had met my father twenty years ago… for ‘creative sessions’….” He made another pause while gnawing on his bottom lip, thinking about his wording. How he wished for it to be a sexual innuendo. He could cope with Howard being an adulterer. “I’m scared they might have created a biological weapon, Jarvis.” He nodded slightly to himself finally deciding on a path of action. “And if they have I will find it and destroy it. I have to.”

“And then?”

Tony shrugged. “Find me another pastime?” He felt the corners of his lips twitching up despite nausea that was slowly creeping up his gullet.

“Are you referring to your investigation or to Captain Rogers?”

“How about both?” He looked back at Jarvis who sighed heavily but he looked more relaxed than before. “You didn't honestly believe I’d turn into an honest man overnight, did you?”

“I believe I am still allowed to dream, Sir.”

Tony only laughed at that, all dry edges that threatened to claw at the walls of his throat. but Jarvis either didn't notice or did a pretty good job at pretending not to. “Well… since you turned out to be no help at all I’m going to pay that lab a visit.”

Jarvis nodded slightly still dusting the paintings. Sometimes Tony felt sorry for him being stuck with a family like his. Stress and worry had bent his back, disputes had carved wrinkles into his skin, had made him age faster than he should have and clouded his eyes and still his smile spoke of nothing but love. He would always stay with him. Tony knew that and he resisted the urge to cross the room and pull him into a tight hug.

He tore his eyes from his butler and finally made for the lab. He left the bottle behind.

—

Thick layers of dust. Howard had not allowed the maids to enter his realm. Files flying around, scattered throughout the room, hasty notes of cryptic text, nonsense to anyone but the writer himself. Flasks, parts of machinery and the distant scent of mold - all jammed up in the proximity of cold brick walls. Equipment lying around, begging to be used as if it was the forgotten treasure hidden deep within the dark caves once occupied by a snarling dragon. Tony briefly considered having a look at the projects that lay out in front of him but he made out the safe before his fingers could grasp the soldering iron.  
Would he find classified documents in there? 

He had to pause for a moment to think. What kind of a man had his father been? The kind who had built his whole life on the development of weapons. The kind who had forgotten about his family in favor of politicians and fellow scientists. A smart man. Too smart and arrogant for his own good. He had created some of the most destructive weapons in the world. But Howard had not been a monster or a sadist. He had been a scientist on a quest for knowledge. At least, that was what Tony wanted to believe.

Tony slowly touched the combination lock and tried birthdays. His mothers? Nothing. His own birthday? Nothing. Howard’s? Again, nothing. He tried his parent’s wedding day, Jarvis’ birthday… He was beginning to try random numbers when he remembered the date on the photograph: June 22nd, 1915.  
It was a little far fetched but when the safe door clicked softly he made a small happy dance and immediately pulled several files from the insides.  
He worked his way through a big pile of blueprints - all very interesting and dangerous - but nothing that even resembled a biological weapon and nothing in collaboration with a Doctor Rogers, or a Rogers in general that is.

Tony sighed and went through the remaining files and documents: A few stocks, certificates, photographs of electronic models and a handful of letters. The letters were mostly invitations to future events Howard would never attend now. One, however, was a personal one. Old, decades maybe. Written by a Hank Pym. Tony blinked several times. Pym? As in Pym Technologies? Pym had never worked together with his father. The two of them hadn't even liked each other. And why had it even been inside the safe?  
Tony tore the envelope open, pulled out the letter and scanned the words.

_Howard,_

_I will be clear and swift:  
I am no longer a part of this - not after what happened to Erskine. You are playing with fire and it will bite you back. Do not contact me in any way. Delete my name from the files. Take all the glory you think you will get and live with the consequences of your doing._

_This is the most destructive invention you have ever created. I hope you are content._

_I wish you a long life,_

_Hank_

Tony couldn't hold back a grin, suddenly feeling strangely ignited with anticipation. It really was classified information. He quickly folded the letter and stuffed it into one of his pockets not bothering keeping it neat. He flipped the safe door shut and ran upstairs.

“HAPPY! HAPPY! I need you, buddy! Time to pay an old friend a visit!”

—

Happy had been considerably confused but hadn't objected when Tony had ordered him to drive him to New York City. Even though he had been shooting Tony about a hundred questioning looks by the time they had reached the mainland.  
It had been quite the chore to get someone to pick them up at the island and get a car on the mainland. But as always, problems seemed to solve themselves if one simply threw a lot of money at them.

Several hours and a few bucks later and Tony was happily ringing the bell of Pym’s familiar mansion, his sudden mid swing a welcome diversion as a stoic looking man in his late 50s opened the door - Pym’s butler James. Tony wasn’t sure if ‘James’ was his real name or if butlers simply chose from six different names (James, Alfred, Edward, Sebastian, John, and Carlos - just to spice it up a little!) as soon as they finished butler-school. Something like a graduation ceremony or whatever.

“Mr. Stark. Do you have an appointment?” James greeted him with raised eyebrows.

Tony grinned back. “Hello to you too. I don’t know. Do I?” He was feeling devious now, more like himself and stronger. Nausea was long forgotten at the shores of Stark Island.

The other man sighed heavily but stepped back and opened the door a little further. “You are lucky. Mr. Pym currently has an empty spot in his schedule.”

Tony didn't bother to answer to that, slipped out of his coat instead and stuffed it into James’ hands. Happy was on his heels casting James a friendly look only to end up at the receiving end of an arched brow. Tony wanted to comment on it but was cut short.

“I should make a list of people you should never ever let inside, James. Mr. Stark would definitely make the top spot.” The voice came from the staircase and Tony beamed at Hank. 

“That would be boring wouldn't it? How’s your wife?”

“Not here. Thankfully. You can leave.” 

“Actually, I’m here to see _you_ for a change.”

The older man nodded towards a door, not showing much of a reaction and Tony followed him inside leaving Happy alone with Mr. Fun-is-my-second-name. He felt sorry for him.

Pym led him into his library. Compared to the one on Stark-Island it was small, but it spoke definitely of a more lively household. Two armchairs rested next to a comfy fireplace. The room was decorated with pictures and statues from all over the world - the work of Pym’s wife. Janet loved traveling and if Hank didn't have time to accompany her on one of her adventures she simply went on her own. Tony adored her. She was strong and independent, something Tony appreciated in people. He had met her at a charity event and they became friends soon after.  
Given Tony’s reputation, however, Hank never quite believed the ‘friends’-part or, at least, Tony’s intentions towards his wife.

Pym flopped into one of the armchairs. “So. What did I do to deserve this?” His tone was bordering on friendly but he drew back his shoulders defensively, eyes scanning Tony.

Tony copied his move and crossed his arms over his chest. “I want to talk about my father.”

“My condolences”, was the immediate answer.

“No.” Tony lifted both hands as if in defense. “Don’t start with that. That’s absolutely not what I mean.” Suddenly feeling a little off balance, Tony shifted in his seat, Hank’s eyes following his every move. For a brief second, Tony wondered what he was doing here. His behavior was extremely inappropriate considering it had only been a few days since the funeral. And here he was, playing detective grinning at old acquaintances as if he was on some kind of vacation.  
He tried to remember his initial intention - the biological weapon - but suddenly the whole ordeal seemed ridiculous. He was grasping at straws trying to distract himself from the fact that he didn't want to deal with the sudden change in his life. 

Hank narrowed his eyes at Tony’s discomfort, the corners of his mouth twitching up ever so slightly. “What do you mean, then? I didn't know him personally, you know that.”

Tony blinked several times at the blatant lie as if suddenly remembering he had proof and wasn't just making up connections where none had been. One of his hands snaked into his pocket feeling for the letter, making sure it was still there.  
He nodded slowly. “I beg to differ, Hank. You did.” Pym simply quirked his eyebrows at him but Tony had recovered from his miniature breakdown. He tried to give his best impression of a poker face but the corners of his mouth twitched up ever so slightly. Eventually, he decided to play for nonchalance and eyed the library instead as if he did not know the room. 

“What are you even talking about?”

“I found something.” Tony settled for a few books on Asian culture and nodded before he fished the scrambled letter from his pocket shaking it like the incriminating evidence it was. “June 22nd? Erskine? What is this, Hank?” He raised an eyebrow at Pym, waiting for some kind of reaction.  
Something crossed the man’s face for a mere split second. It didn't escape Tony but he couldn't determine what it was.

“I don’t know. You tell me.” Hank answered calmly, his fingers drumming a small rhythm on the armrest.

Tony snorted. “Don’t play hard to get.” He knew Pym had been involved. The question was if Tony knew enough to make him crack and reveal more information.

Hank didn't answer, his eyebrows still pulled up towards his hairline. Tony stood and paced through the room, his eyes never leaving the older man. “Does the name Rogers ring a bell?”

Pym’s finger dug into the leather of the armchair and the emotion on his face didn't fade this time. Tony recognized it: Fear.

“Oh, Tony…” Pym gulped several times trying to win back his composure and his eyes skittered over the room as if he was looking for something inside that was able to ground him.

Tony blinked. That was not what he had expected. He had expected Pym to be angry or annoyed or to deny everything. Something along these lines… But the fear in his eyes was genuine.  
“What…?” He summoned the mental picture of Steve Rogers - all blue eyes and neatly cut hair, soft voice, and warm smile - and tried to connect the picture to Pym’s reaction. A small chuckle escaped his mouth in the face of the sheer controversy.

Hank slowly shook his head one of his hands coming up to swipe newly formed sweat from his forehead. “Oh boy… Tony, ignore this. Don’t get involved in this project.”

“So there was a project!” Tony smirked but it quickly fell from his face, when Hank’s expression darkened.

“No, there wasn’t! You here me?!” Tony almost jumped at the sudden volume but the older man took a few big breaths. His next words came out calmer. “Don’t try to dig up graves. This is something you don’t want to get involved in, believe me. And don't - under any circumstances - speak to anyone named Rogers.”

Tony was almost shaking with anticipation, ever word a cautious decision. “I… kind of have already…” He had to meet Rogers again and ask him about Pym. With a small pang of regret he realized, he didn't know his address.

Hank’s eyes were wide now and he rose quickly. “James!!” He left the room in search of his butler only to come back shortly after. “You have to go. Don’t come back. Ever.” He grabbed Tony and pushed him towards the door, shoving his coat at him and Tony had to fumble for it. He was standing on the street before he could fully comprehend what had happened.

Hank gave him a last sympathetic look through the door crack. “I’m sorry. I really am, son.” And he was gone.

Tony was left staring at the door which produced Happy after a few seconds.

“What was that, boss?”

“I have absolutely no idea.”

Tony knew Hank was an eccentric guy, but this reaction had been too much even for him.  
“It certainly was anti-climatic.” The sudden end to their meeting had left Tony with more questions than answers and now he was feeling restless.

Happy shrugged. “I’m getting the car.”

Tony nodded again. “You know, let’s get some hotel rooms… now that we’re here we might as well visit the company.”

The look on Happy’s face was almost as shocked as Pym’s from before. “Are… you sure, boss?”

“Yeah. It’s mine isn’t it?” Tony replied fully intending to paying Pym another visit the next day.

__

The entrance hall of Stark Industries was mostly made of steel and glass. A solid look representing structure and strength. A lot of busy looking people crossed Tony’s path as he made his way towards the elevator. Some of them recognized him and turned towards their colleagues to point at him. Tony gave them his best poster smile.  
He had been here several times. After all, Howard had tried to teach him the glories of being a weapon’s merchant, but when his son had shown more interest in cars and engines instead of missiles he had given up eventually. Or not, given the fact Tony now owned this hellhole.

He pushed the bottom towards the third floor as soon as he entered the elevator, Happy on his heels. Tony smiled at him. “You don’t have to come. Go grab something to eat.”

“You sure, boss?”

Tony nodded. “Take a break.” And Happy left the elevator before the doors plinged shut. 

The third floor only consisted of meeting rooms, Stane’s office and one of the world’s biggest corridors. It was ridiculous and plastered with expensive paintings and a few flowers. 

Tony made a beeline for the reception and was greeted by a beautiful young woman.  
She had tied her strawberry-blond hair back into a beautiful updo.

“Mr. Stark, how can I be of help to you?” She smiled at him.

Tony leaned on the reception with both of his arms crossed on the expensive wood.  
“Actually, I wanted to talk to Mr. Stane about how my company is doing. But now that I think about it, I might as well talk to you instead, Pepper.” He smiled at her. She was the only good thing about this place. He knew her from a few trips to his parents’ and several parties and events. She had been Howard’s personal assistant and it seemed like Stane had snatched her away now. Tony couldn't blame him. She was a genius when it came to management. If Tony ever had to choose someone to marry, it would definitely be her. Their combined genius would conquer the world. But their relationship was something along the lines of it-almost-happened-in-a-dream. She was too perfect for him. His shallow advances had never impressed her in the slightest. 

One of her hands suddenly cupped his and she squeezed slightly.  
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t come to the funeral.”

“No. No, it’s okay. I mean, you must have been occupied with the backlash on the company.” He tried to give her a genuine smile but it felt more dry than sincere. “No, really, it’s not a big deal. You didn't miss anything, except maybe the chance to kiss away my pain.” She didn't even quirk an eyebrow at the innuendo. Tony mentally noted the chance the she was genuinely sad about his parents’ passing and averted his eyes from hers.  
“…sorry.”

She slowly let go of his hand. “The company is doing okay. As expected, the stocks dropped but they will go back up, after the revelation of the new prototype.”

Tony blinked. “New prototype?”

“You don’t know about that?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

“It seems to be based on a few of your father’s designs. After the funeral, Mr. Stane had pushed a lot of our resources into the creation of a prototype.” Her head fell slightly to the side. “You didn’t authorize it?”

New prototype? Based on some obscure designs? The look on Pym’s face reappeared before Tony’s inner eye. 

Fear.

And Tony made a snap decision.

“No”, was all he said before he made directly for Stane’s office and entered without wasting even a thought to knocking. Pepper’s last attempt at a ‘Tony!’ sounded like a distant calling.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” The rage in Tony’s voice roughened up the edges on every word.

Stane looked at him in surprise. “Tony!”, he snorted mimicking Pepper. “What are you doing here?”

“I never authorized the production of a new weapon, Stane!”

“The last time, we spoke, you told me I could do with this company whatever I wanted. And now you storm into my office demanding answers. You really are your father’s son…”

Tony mentally cursed himself. Well,… yes, he had said that. “I’m the main stakeholder and I wasn't even informed! What is this new weapon?”

“It’s what the company needs right now.” He got up closing the bottoms of his suit jacket casually as if this was merely a small chat. “I told you about the situation in Europe. It’s perfect timing.” 

Tony huffed. He knew exactly what kind of a person Stane was. The kind, that would not be scared of giving the world the perfect instruments of destruction. But Tony couldn't do this. He had seen their old weapons in action. A new one only meant that it would bring even more death.  
“What is this weapon exactly?”

“Something new.” 

“Tell me!” Tony shouted barely containing his anger. Possibilities were rushing through his head. What if the thing he was chasing was far more advanced than he had thought? What if Rogers was some kind of military liaison and Howard had already given away the blueprints? What if Tony was too late? “You’ve got the blueprints here, don't you?” He stretched out one hand making a prompting gesture. 

Stane’s eyes narrowed and he walked right into Tony’s personal space pushing Tony’s hand aside. “You listen to me, boy. You will not talk to me like that. When you were busy building yourself the reputation of a whore, I spent every waking hour alongside your father. He made the weapons but I made this company big. Without me, the government wouldn't even have considered Stark Industries as a military supplier.” He circled Tony like a predator. “I don’t have to show you nothing, Tony. And if you want to stay out of trouble you will crawl back into the dark corner you came from and let me do my work.” He leaned forward his breath prickling unpleasantly on the skin of Tony’s ear. “Do you understand me?”

“I want to know every compound of it. I want to see every equation ever made to estimate its effectiveness. I want the test footage in my hands by tomorrow morning.” Tony answered, his voice calm as he looked up at the older man. The anger in his stomach was about to spill out and he did his best to keep it at bay. Stane must have felt the same. The irritation on his face was hard to overlook. “And you will tell me what you are planning to do with it, who will have access to the technology. And then we can see about this revelation-event of yours.” He felt himself smirk despite the bitterness of the situation. “And I think it might be about time I move into this office, Mr. Stane.”

The corners of Stane’s lips shot up and he grabbed Tony by the collar. “I gave you the chance to be a part of this company, didn't I? _You_ didn’t want to. Of course now you come back to steal my position.” Tony tried to pull his hands away just as Stane released his collar, grabbed his throat instead and squeezed hard. Tony felt himself gasping for air and pulled at Stane’s wrist but the other man pushed him backward and before he could react Tony’s back hit the large desk in the office, sending several documents and pencils flying to the floor and knocking the last bit of oxygen out of his lungs. He felt the sudden urge to laugh at the situation. It felt surreal. He had been around dangerous people before and had had his fair share of bar fights but he had never imagined being assaulted like this. The feeling of helplessness froze his mind but his body was reacting on autopilot, his chest bobbing up and down as his lungs convulsed in their fight for air.

“I would have done it, though. I would have taught you. I would have _made_ you. But you are nothing but an ungrateful manchild”, Stane continued his grip getting harder every second. The smile hadn't left his face. “You’re on of those people who live big and die young.” Tony tried to reach the large lamp on the desk wanting to use it as a weapon but Stane pulled him up hardening his grip impossibly further only to smash him down several times, enough to make skin break. He felt the blood leaving the back of his head before he registered the wound itself. He would have cried out in pain, but no sound escaped his throat anymore.  
Small lights danced right before his eyes and his lungs kept begging him to feed them air. Stane looked down at him as Tony’s hands finally slid from his arms towards his own throat in a last attempt to free himself. “This is a warning. Don’t make me help you with the dying part.” And finally, he let go.

Tony immediately took a big breath only to make his lungs hurt with the sudden impact and coughed. He heard Stane leave but couldn't the only thing he was able to do was doubling up and clawing at his chest, rocking back and forth until his body seemed to accept the offer of oxygen the desperately tried to feed it making him cough loudly.

Silence. Then a gasp.  
He didn’t hear anything else, his coughs blocked any other sound. But after some time, he felt soft hands on one of his. His vision was blurry but he managed to focus on Pepper’s face. Her expression worried. Her eyes went wide when they settled on his throat.  
“Tony… what happened?” She helped him up checking the wound on his head. “What have you done? Did he…? Did he do that?” She pointed at what must have been red marks on his throat.

Tony wanted to joke about it, but nothing escaped his lips except for more coughs.

Pepper took that as a yes. “You need to go to a hospital. No, we need to go to the police!”

“Just get me to Happy,” He said finally finding his voice back even if it was nothing more but a whisper. He pulled a handkerchief from his chest pocket, held it to his head and interrupted Pepper before she could voice any objections. “He wanted to scare me. He wouldn’t have done anything serious. He’s not that stupid.” He paused for another cough.

“If that was nothing serious then what is?!”

“When will the new weapon be revealed?”

“What?! That’s not important right now.”

“When, Pepper?!” He would have shouted but he was sure his voice would have collapsed.

“Next week.”

“That’s more than enough time.” Tony stood up, his legs wobbly underneath him and his head spinning. 

“For what? Don’t do anything dangerous…” She was by his side steadying him a little. “That just now was a serious assault! Let’s go to the police station, please!”

“No! No, I’m fine. I need your help, though. You need to tell me everything you know about this weapon.”

“I don’t know much…”

She helped him out of the office and into the elevator absentmindedly stroking his back along the way and Tony leaned into the touch. 

“I need blueprints… anything. And I need to be on the guest list for the revelation.”

“Why are you getting so worked up over a prototype?”

“I’m investigating something and I’m almost sure it’s connected to this prototype.”

She shook her head. “I can get you on the guest list. As for the blueprints… how am I supposed to get them? I’m only an assistant.”

Tony shrugged and immediately regretted the action when a spark of pain flashed across his neck.  
“You’re a charming young lady and you can always say Stane wanted them to have one last look at them or something like that.”

She stared at him for a few solid seconds, the elevator door closing and Tony leaned against one of the walls. “You want me to get involved,” she said finally.

“I wouldn't if I didn't think it was important.” His lungs were finally calming and he dared to take a few big breaths. “I will make sure, nothing happens to you. I’ll protect you.”

Pepper gestured at him. “Look how that turned out for you. Tony, I can guarantee that the new prototype is exactly what the company needs right now. Stane is doing a great job… except for what happened just now. And what happened just now, that needs to be addressed in front of officers.”

“Would you stop talking about going to the police!” Now he shouted, his voice breaking several times and he had to steady himself against the wall anew. The handkerchief against his skull was wet with blood but figured he wouldn't need stitching. The wound was not big enough but it was troublesome. Jarvis would have a look at it later.

The elevator reached the ground floor and pinged open. Tony pushed himself from the wall. “Look, you don’t want to help me? Fine. Don’t.” The small movement made his head spin and his attempt to make a beeline for the reception to ask for Happy’s whereabouts ended in a few sick-zack strides. Pepper was by his side before he could lose his balance completely.

“You need to see a doctor at least.”

Tony tried to shake his head. Everything was spinning and the corners of his vision turned black.  
He saw someone rushing towards them: Happy. One of his arms came around Tony’s shoulders as soon as he had reached them.

“What happened?” Tony had never seen him so worried.

“Fell down some stairs.”

Pepper gave him an incredulous look before offering: “He needs to go to the hospital.”

“I don’t have time for hospitals… just get me to the hotel, please.”

Happy adjusted his grip about to object.

“That’s an order, Mr. Hogan.” Tony managed. His vision was fading completely now and he felt his consciousness fleeing from him as well.

“Okay, boss…” Happy sounded unsure but he led him out. 

Tony gave Pepper one last look over his shoulder. Amongst darkness and blur she stared back at him, her jaw tight and her hands clenched into fists. He smiled softly and she stomped one foot to the ground and rushed towards the elevator. Tony’s smile turned into a grin. Of course she would help him.

—

Tony didn’t perceive much after that. Somehow they made it into the car. Happy rambled about contacting Doctor Banner and Tony went on with his mantra of ‘no’s.  
He realized there were driving at some point and the faint pulling sensation in his stomach that could only be an elevator working its way from floor to floor and before he knew it he woke up in a bed. The sun was high up behind thick curtains. He must have slept through the entire evening and night. At least, he hoped, it wasn’t longer.

He blinked and sat up only to fall back into bis pillow when a strong flash of pain shot through his skull. They were bandages wrapped around his head and some kind of salve on the broken skin of his throat.

He heard the door opening. “You’re awake. Good.”

Tony grinned despite the pain. “Bruce…” His voice was raspy again.

“I always knew, you were suicidal…” The doctor walked towards the nightstand and Tony realized his doctor’s bag was standing on it. Bruce fished a small bottle from it dripping some of the liquid into a glass of water next to the bag. “Here, drink this,” he said offering the glass to Tony. “It’s morphine.”

Tony took the glass from him graciously and drank everything in a few large gulps only to break out in a coughing attack. Dammit. He had forgotten about his throat.

Bruce packed up. “You have a concussion and the marks on your throat have bruised, but your vocal cords have suffered no lasting damage.”

Tony nodded as soon as the coughing had stopped whispering with all his remaining power: “How can you even be here? Please don’t tell me I slept through a week.”

“I was in the area.” Bruce sighed heavily. “What happened to you? Because you sure as hell didn't fall down any stairs.”

“It’s not important.”

Bruce sat down on the corner of the bed and gave him a worried look. “Did you get yourself involved in some shady business? Is it a mob?”

Tony laughed in response which only ended in more coughing. “Is that what you think of me?”

“Well, you’ve been involved with some really obscure people before…”

Tony smiled at him. “How is our little garden project doing? Are my babies alright?”

Bruce straightened a crease in the blanket. “It was shut down.” Tony gaped at him. “They want to invest in something else and since you were busy here they didn't see any future in it.”

“Why didn’t you contact me?”

“We were getting nowhere… Besides, you have other responsibilities. I figured you have to sort out your life right now.”

Tony groaned. “…I will make Stark Industries invest in it.”

Bruce laughed. “Stark Industries is still a weapon’s manufacture, Tony. None of your stakeholders will even be remotely interested in energy created by the sun and wind.”

“Well, I’m the owner now.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want.” 

“Believe me…” Tony sighed. “That much I know…” Now feeling even more crushed than before.

Bruce patted one of his legs. “We can always start over. Now sleep.”

Tony stared at the ceiling. The morphine was doing its work. The pain was almost gone and he was slowly lulled into sleep but he felt something inside his chest tighten.  
“Everything’s gone now…”

“Don’t worry about it.” Bruce stood up. “I will be back in three days. I have to… pack up.” He grabbed his bag and pointed a finger at Tony. “As soon as I’m back, you will tell me what happened to you!” Tony’s fingers twitched but he resisted the urge to grasp for Bruce’s hand.

He nodded instead, his eyes already falling shut. “We’ll figure out something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, no Steve in this chapter. =(


	3. Bonfires Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony wants to take a break but apparently he can't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW! I'm overwhelmed by all the positive feedback! Really, I love each every one of you! Thank you so much!
> 
> This one's shorter than the others. I didn't feel like making it one big monster chapter. 
> 
> You know the drill:  
> dark themes, death and destruction, historical inaccuracy
> 
> and it only gets worse ;) I'm having fun

Tony fell into almost comfortable sleep. His dreams nothing but haze and shadows clashing against dark edges and cold air pricking his skin - waves prancing against stones and distant voices calling his name over and over again. But he woke to the ghost of a touch against his forehead and a smile on his lips.

 _Bruce_ , he thought instinctively. Had he returned early? But a low comfortable voice broke his delusion.

“Mr. Stark.”

He jerked up only to fall back when the world started spiralling around him, a dull ache mixing in from somewhere deep in his skull. He realised that his bandages were gone.

“Captain.” He rasped.

Steve Rogers was sitting on the edge of the large bed, one hand lying lazily on one of the cushions, his eyes bemused at the confusion on Tony’s face. He was dressed in a reasonable suit, a coat folded over the elbow of his free arm. “Doctor Banner is out right now. He’s buying medicine, I think,” he offered before Tony could blink away his bafflement and smiled. “I was in the area.” Well, wasn’t that convenient? Something flashed across the Captain’s eyes and Tony’s brain retorted a single word: _Liar_.  
He recalled Bruce saying the exact same words to him the day before - or the last time Tony had been awake. He really needed to check the date. But he couldn’t. Not right now. Because there was this stranger inside his hotel room. Tony couldn't think of any reason, why Rogers would be here.  
He tensed up, feeling the now dark bruises on his throat as his muscles shifted. Rogers watched his movement and retreated a little, giving Tony more personal space. 

“I was meeting a friend when I ran into your chauffeur outside. He told me, I would find you here” he continued before Tony could press him further.

 _Liar_.

All of Tony’s defences came up and his teeth came together with an audible click when he clenched his jaw. Suddenly he felt cornered even though Rogers’ smile was still warm and his posture nothing but friendly - the perfect picture of innocence. And wasn't that even more unsettling? The man in front of him was a soldier. Trained to be intimidating. Even if it was his intention to appear peaceful, soldiers generally had an eerie feel to them like they could not shake off the battlefield completely. Even if Rogers had most likely been too young to serve in the war he still had the training. Wait. How had he even become a Captain?  
Was he even a soldier? Was he a spy? It would certainly answer many questions.  
Suddenly Tony felt foolish for trusting him so easily back on the island. He wasn't a mystery, he was a threat. A spy surveying the young Stark just to make sure he was ready for his duty as the merchant of death. Or maybe something worse.

“What do you want from me?”, was what he finally settled on, though Rogers’ smile only broadened at that.

“Nothing,” he answered, standing and throwing his coat over a chair at the far end of the room.

 _Liar_.

Tony closed his eyes swiftly - just a moment, a small pause to assess what his life had become - and he felt his pulse picking up speed. Panic crawled up his body with feathery touches and cold bites until he couldn't suppress the shudder anymore. That was when his eyes flipped open and he realised Rogers was staring at him.

“I’m not your enemy.”

“Well,…” Tony leaned on his elbows slowly pushing himself up until he fell against the headboard. “…excuse me, if I have troubles believing that.” He eyed Rogers wearily, looking for clues in every little movement the man made. But there was nothing to be found except for reassuring smiles. Tony dared to clear his throat and winced at the sore feeling. “Did he send you to keep an eye on me?”

“Did who send me?” Now it was Rogers’ turn to look confused and he sat down joining his coat on the chair. He was giving Tony a lot of space but the way he was looking at him now, Rogers might as well have him pinned down on the bed pressing Tony for answers. It was the first time the man seemed dangerous.

“Obediah Stane”, Tony offered, voice testing and daring Rogers to show any reaction to the name. But none came.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” The smile returned sparking sharp edges in the man’s eyes. “Is he the person responsible for your current state?”

“He is the current CEO of my company.” The statement was simple but Tony made sure to stress the word _current_ as if it was a threat.

“You don’t seem particularly fond of him.”

Tony raised an eyebrow at the Captain, refusing to answer to that. The conversation was slowly drifting into something casual again almost mimicking their former ones but Tony refused to be lulled into comfortable small talk even though he felt his body was already relaxing.  
“Why are you stalking me?”

Rogers chuckled. “I would hardly call it stalking since you are quite aware of my presence.”

“Answer the damn question!” Tony snapped and his throat protested vehemently at the excessive use of his voice.

“I enjoy your company”

This time, the word simply fell from Tony’s lips. “Liar.” And the smile was finally swiped from Rogers’ face and made room for an uncomfortable silence. “There is something you want from me. There is always something.”

“I want to help you,” Rogers said finally. “You don’t deserve this.”

Tony’s nostrils flared at that. The whole statement rubbed him the wrong way. Not only was it fucking vague and evasive it also spoke of a weird fixation Rogers seemed to have on him. Tony should have seen this coming the moment the other man had suddenly appeared at his doorstep. But he had been too distracted by good looks and warm chuckles.  
“I don’t need a protector.”

“This is where you’re wrong. You do.” Roger retorted suddenly looking stern. It was a genuine statement. Just like the one at his parents’ grave. But it was too late. Tony wouldn't trust the man anymore.

“You’re my creepy devotee, then?”

“If you want to call it that.” Rogers chuckled again. Tony didn't share the sentiment.

“Not working for Stane?”

“Not working for anyone.” 

Tony raised his eyebrows. Not for anyone? Not even his country? There was a story there. He didn't ask but made a mental note to come back to that later. He had other things to do.  
“You better find a way, to prove to me that I can trust you. Until then…” Tony waved him off. “…leave me the hell alone.”

Rogers nodded slowly and rose without so much as an objection. “Get well soon.” He slipped into his coat and left without another glance towards Tony but he almost ran into Bruce in the doorway. Both men awkwardly danced around each other, dipping their heads and apologizing like embarrassed children. 

Tony’s mouth almost dropped open. What was the deal with this guy? One moment he was like a predatory wildcat, the next he gave his best impression of a blushing teenage boy.  
Really, what had Tony done to deserve the mess his life had become? He couldn't help but wish silently for a moment of silence. Maybe he should call it quits and leave this chaos behind. Let Stane do whatever he wanted and take a vacation.  
Bruce cleared his throat and broke Tony’s line of thought. “Please don’t tell me, he’s another lover. Because he is a really nice young man and I know what you tend to do to the nice types.” Pepper trailed in behind him, a big brown envelope in her hands, her gaze following Rogers’ back.

Tony gave both of them a lopsided smile. “Nah, he only _looks_ nice.”

Bruce snorted and walked towards the nightstand where he had left his bag. Tony hadn’t even noticed it before. “Army Captain, right? Really polite. He came by this morning. Almost beat me to arriving here. I was… surprised.” He chuckled. ” Where do you know each other from?”

Tony winced. He really didn't want to talk about Rogers. He let the question hang between them until his brain registered the other information in Bruce’s monologue. “You arrived today? Did you come back early?” 

“No.” 

Tony sat up in a flash, dizziness claiming the edges of his vision. “I slept for three days?!” He felt a strange fondness in the fact that his voice was able to sound shocked again, even though his face must have resembled a grimace. His head felt hollow and like there was something trapped inside, that was colliding with the walls of his skull as soon as he moved.

“I drugged you up good, Stark. No need to feel ashamed.”

He wasn't ashamed. He had work to do, goddammit! This wasn't the time to be lying around in bed because of some minor injuries. His eyes fell on Pepper, who was standing in front of the chair Rogers had occupied earlier. It was then, it occurred to him that she and Bruce had arrived together. “You guys know each other?”

“Since about two hours,” she smiled but it didn't quite reach her eyes. She was angry. Normally, Tony would talk about it, but he didn’t have time for that right now. “We had lunch together,” Pepper continued.  
He cursed himself internally. He felt like he was losing the grip on his own life. So many things had happened and he hadn't even been conscious. Three days… Well, there was no time to waste.  
Pepper seemed to have decided to stay longer because she slipped out of her coat, hanging it up on the clothes rack next to the chair. She continued, sarcasm strong in every word: “Before you ask: The revelation is tomorrow. You are invited and have a whole day to assure yourself that everything is okay with the prototype.”

Tony caught movement in the corner of his eyes. Bruce had faced him, a stethoscope around his neck. Tony’s muscles tensed at the sight. “I need you to sit over here.” Bruce gestured invitingly. “And tell me if you feel dizzy or nauseous.” Tony crawled towards the edge of the bed. He was really not fond of doctors. A remnant of all his doctor visits as a child. And even now, he was going to the hospital more than he liked to. It was one of the benefits of doing research with Bruce. The doctor knew about his heart condition and had done several check ups on him. Still, Tony hated this part. Bruce’s fingers swept his throat for damage and listened to his breathing. Tony kept his mouth firmly shut. There was no time for dizziness or sore throats.

“Bruce, really. I’m fine. I feel great!” Tony winced at a particular touch. “I take it that these are the documents I asked for, Pepper?” He nodded towards her and held out a hand.

Pepper hesitated but rose from the chair and handed him the envelope. “Yes. You’ll see, that it’s just another prototype. But I would be glad if you reconsidered going to the police.” She gestured at him. “I know, I know… you don’t like authorities… but honestly? I’m scared, Tony.”

Tony felt a pang of guilt. The police couldn't help him. His real enemy wasn't even Stane. It was the shadow of a dead man and he was chasing it. For just a moment there he considered if she could understand what was going on inside his head. Would she help him.? Or would she declare him insane? He felt a little insane.  
He ignored her question and repositioned himself, trying to get a little bit more comfortable while Bruce did his thing.  
His eyes fell back on the envelope. This was it. The big moment of revelation. His pulse picked up speed. Blood rushing through his veins, silencing any other sound. Bruce would hear his panic. but Tony didn't care. Every part of his brain was focused on the brown paper between his fingers.  
And if it was just another prototype? He closed his eyes briefly. Well, he would accept that he was paranoid. Didn't sound too bad. _A crazy, paranoid man living on an island._

He pulled out the first page. 

His mouth went dry. 

“T-the Jericho?” His voice shook with every syllable.

“Yes, that’s the name of the project. Why?” Pepper responded, sitting back down.

He wasn't sure, what the appropriate reaction was in a case like this. He wanted to laugh in relief. It wasn't a biological weapon after all, but it was actually just as bad. The papers lay on his thighs weighing him down like tons of metal scraps in factories, dark and lethal.  
Pressed, soldered and screwed together into black giants - crushing his thighs, his back, crushing his conscious. _They open their distorted mouths, teeth flying everywhere._

BOOM. Silence. The Jericho. 

It had been a stupid thing he had scribbled down, the naive young fool he had been. Nothing but the means of a child wanting to impress their father. Howard had called it an abomination. Tony couldn't help but agree with him now. It was a senseless display of power and violence. Enough to burn out a village. Of course, Tony hadn't known the consequences of war back then. The only thing he had thought about was a dramatic, oversized, big BOOM. Sure, this missile would get it done. Would leave nothing but ashes and fear.  
With shaking fingers he scanned through the pages. He found the unmistakable work of his father in the alterations made in the blueprints and something else that, he assumed, was the work of Stane’s men. To make the BOOM even bigger, he noted.  
But no biochemist named Rogers. Maybe the Captain really had told him the truth.  
He pushed the thought away.  
“Stane wants to sell it?” Tony registered that Bruce’s hands were gone now. He had taken a step back, eyes fixed on the documents in Tony's lap.

Well, his father had done something without him knowing. He felt anger curling up in his stomach.  
How dare he? The Jericho had not been his to use. Why would he have changed his mind about it anyway? Tony had so many questions but the only person who could answer them was dead.

Pepper nodded, confusion drawing her brows together. “What’s the problem, Tony?”

“Where’s Happy? I need him to run a few errands.” He shuffled the documents together, fingers almost shaking too much to cram them back into the envelope. 

Pepper shrugged. “In his room, I guess.”

“Okay, I’ll make him a list of things I need. Tell him not to mention my name.” Tony caught his reflection in a mirror hanging at the other side of the room. His hair, disheveled and greasy, lay over his forehead and his skin was pale and stretched over his bones. He looked like a dead man walking and he certainly felt the part.

“What? Tony, what is it you want to do exactly?” Pepper squinted at him, her voice calm but Tony knew there was anger there.

“I will not allow him to mass produce this weapon, Pepper.” He looked around and was relieved to find fresh clothes on another chair next to the mirror.

“What the fuck is wrong with it?!”

“It’s mine, okay?!” He was shouting now. His throat was protesting but he couldn't care less. “I designed it when I was twelve. I-…” He fell back onto the mattress, sighing. Dammit. He needed to function for this. But he was weak and edgy and he had slept for three days straight. “I don’t want to sell weapons.” He didn't know who he was confessing to. Pepper? Bruce? Himself? He felt defeated without even having fought. ”I don’t want to be like my father.”

Pepper gnawed her bottom lip with an efficiency, Tony feared she was drawing blood. “This is not worth going to prison.”

“Well, I think it is.” Tony was surprised by how calm he sounded.

Something sad crossed Pepper’s face but anger surpassed that emotion and she rose and grabbed her coat. “I’m sorry, Tony. I don’t want to play any part in this! Don’t do this, okay? Whatever this is. It doesn’t sound…” She hesitated again, tears forming in her eyes. “I want you to be happy, but this is not the way!” She stormed out without another word.

Tony watched the door a moment longer than necessary, something in his chest aching and urging him to get after her. Pepper’s exit was just another warning light showing him what an excellent crash landing his current path was. If it was a landing at all. Whatever it was that was happening to his life, he needed it to stop.  
Bruce was still silent in front of him.  
“You can leave too if you want. I won’t blame you for thinking this is a bad idea.” Tony said finally. He would to it alone, if he had to.

The doctor dragged a heavy hand over his face. “You’ve gotten yourself into quite the mess again.”

“Yes,” was all Tony could respond to that. He looked up, begging Bruce to stay even if his stomach almost turned just at the mere thought of what he was asking the other man.

“First of all, we need you to get cleaned up and you need to eat. You cannot do anything in your current condition.”

Tony smiled. The thank you lying between them.

__ 

They didn't really have time. It had to be this night.

Happy, the loyal bastard he was, had gathered all the tools Tony needed without so much as a question. Tony had made a mental note to give him a raise. He had spent the time memorising everything the file said about the prototype and telling Bruce the plan. The plan was quite simple, actually:  
Anything that would postpone the revelation. Stane would build another prototype. The blueprints Tony had surely weren't the only ones. But destroying this one would damage Stane’s plans and it would give Tony time to rethink his strategy. A pause. That was all he needed. He knew, he was dancing on wires right now, probably making one mistake after another, but he couldn't just sit around and wait.  
He took a deep breath, salty wet air filling his lungs. The number of the warehouse the Jericho was stored in had been in the documents. It was at the docks. A dark corner, hidden in the shadows. The smell of the ocean was familiar now. The pouring rain made it difficult, but Tony could make out the sound of waves beneath it. Water crashing against the stone, trying to claim the land as if gripping. _Gripping for him._

“Three seconds till distraction,” Tony whispered, locking eyes with Bruce to make sure, the other was listening. The rain dripped constantly from Tony’s hair and into his eyes. But he didn't move. His hands inside the small case at the wall they were currently pressed against, shook a little. He made sure to shelter the case with his body the best he could.  
He felt odd. Not like himself. Tony Stark didn't need to break into his own warehouse to destroy a weapon he had created. Tony Stark was a scientist over in California. A prodigy who dedicated his life to helping and protecting people. Not this. Not ever.  
“3…2…1…action.” Tony heard his voice say. He pushed the open ends of the wires, resting between his fingers, together. An alarm ran. He heard voices inside, feet shuffling and rushed commands. The fire alarm ringing in his ears. He was glad he had thought about the night guards.  
The men followed protocol and gathered in front of the warehouse just around their corner. One of them would contact the fire department. This was their time-frame.  
Tony looked back at Bruce and nodded once. Bruce's face was pale. Thinking about a break-in was one thing, carrying it out another. Tony grabbed his shoulder and gave it a small squeeze. They moved in unison and entered the warehouse through the backdoor. At this point, picking a lock was the least of their problems. Tony knelt down, looking for someone who could've stayed in the building and took a few wet cloths from his bag.  
The depot was filled with wooden boxes. Tony checked the labels. Arms, arms, arms, explosives, expl-… okay. He made sure to position the cloths far away from the explosives and poured gasoline over them. They would not burn completely, but they would create enough smoke to give the impression of a fire and hide Bruce and him from prying eyes. At least for a moment.  
He looked around, spotting an extra large box in the middle of the room. He readjusted the grip on his bag and made for the box which would surely hold the Jericho.  
Bruce was by side. He fished out a crowbar his own bag and they started tearing down through the timber. Any noise drowning in the blaring alarm.  
Tony’s breath faltered when he spotted his family name on the cold surface of the missile. It glistened in the shallow light of the warehouse. Soft edges and strong curves against the padding inside the box. It was almost beautiful. His design. The power to destroy. The power of silence.  
The Jericho. The end.  
He heard a commotion outside. He didn’t have long now. He took his tools from his bag. He would dismantle it. There would be nothing left but the shell. Completely useless. Completely harmless.  
It would-…  
_THUMP._  
It was an ugly sound. A mixture of something cracking and a splash. The sound of something soft and big hitting the ground. A body.  
He turned around.

His voice caught in his throat. 

Oh shit.

Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.

The motionless body lay to his feet, blood pouring from several wounds, bruises covering almost all of his exposed skin. No breath. Obadiah Stane was dead.  
Tony froze, eyes going wide in shock mimicking the one’s of the corpse on the ground. Behind him, he heard Bruce stumbling backwards against one of the boxes.  
He didn't really need to look up and see the man leaving the shadows to know who it was.

“Do you trust me now, Mr. Stark?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops! This isn't Twilight? Well...


	4. Bonfires Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony spends some time with Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, well... I shouldn't promise a schedule. Just... bear with me, please! :(
> 
> Somehow I managed to make it even darker. Sorry!
> 
> Regarding triggers: I will stop writing explicit warnings now. If you are easily triggered this is definitely not for you (well, that wasn't exactly a surprise, was it?).
> 
> Heed my warning, young reader!
> 
> EDIT: A big thank you to Vikia for pointing out a stupid repetition! ;)

Tony had never been so close to a human corpse before. He had crossed paths with death but never this close. As a child, he had found his fair share of dead animals. Whenever Jarvis or his mother hadn't been fast enough to chase after him before he had disappeared into the shrubs, he had spent hours in the wilderness. He remembered thinking, those animals had looked like toys. They had been too stiff, trapped in one pose. Weird looking and surreal. One day, he had brought home a dead bird. He still remembered the look on his mother’s face when she had told him that the animal was no longer alive. It had been one of those moments that stripped children of their innocence. One of those unbreakable truths that shattered the naive illusion that is life. _No one lives forever._ They had buried the animal in the garden. But Tony had been too young to understand what death truly was. It had merely been a glimpse of its true face.

Of course, he had seen photographs of the frontline. This sight had been, what had changed the way he saw weapons. Humans were fragile constructs. While their mind could be as inviolable as the biggest fortresses, it was actually quite easy to destroy the body. A piece of metal was enough to tear through skin and muscle. But of course, that hadn't been enough. Power had to mean more than the physical ability to punch someone in the face or stab them with a sword. It meant that one had enough resources to buy the most efficient mechanical force that would scatter blood and gore over vast fields of tattered earth - with the push of a button. Glazed eyes looking at camera lenses - the war was the new, ugly face death had greeted Tony with.

His parents’ caskets had been closed ones. Nobody would have wanted to see them after the accident. He had thought about whether he would have liked to see them one last time. To remind himself that they would never come back. A way to keep his mind from expecting them around every corner. Personal loss, he had learnt, was very different from destruction. It was quiet and heavy and it didn't leave when he turned the other way. It was a companion, always right behind his back and it whispered dark thoughts to him.

Theoretically speaking Tony knew what a dead human being looked like.

Theoretically speaking he knew the irony of death.

But nothing could have prepared him for this. 

He was panicking, fear locking him in place and gluing his eyes to the scene right in front of him.  
It was wrong and ugly and surreal. The body was bloated in all the wrong places. The blood was still fresh, thinned out by the rain. This close, he could smell it, the stench and it made his stomach turn. Tony knew it was Stane but the man… the _body_ to his feet didn't even resemble him anymore and it wasn't even just because of the wounds. Something was missing. Stane’s presence, his intimidating character, was simply gone. This _thing_ was nothing but a lump of flesh. And still, Tony’s eyes kept picking up phantom movements on the body’s chest until reality kicked in and told him that there was no sign of life to be found. Something fell into place:

_A mutilated body washed to the shore._

Behind him, he heard Bruce stumble against one of the other boxes. “W-What the hell?!”  
Tony’s brain caught up. Fuck. This wasn’t the time to be frozen in place. He was in a warehouse. _His_ warehouse. About to dismantle a missile. _His_ missile. The alarm was still ringing over their heads. The fire brigade would arrive anytime soon. He had to act. Now. And there was a dead man lying in front of him. Goddammit! Fuck!

He knew he was shaking all over his body and close to losing it. The only thing keeping him together right now was the adrenaline rushing through his veins. “Bruce?”, he said finally, his voice surprisingly calm. “Go. I’ll meet you at the hotel.” He looked back, locking eyes with the doctor and he saw Bruce hesitate. “I’ll deal with this. Please, just go. We’ll talk later, okay?” He tried for a casual tone. Anything to get his friend to relative safety now. Something about it seemed to convince Bruce because he retreated. Slowly at first but it turned into a full- on sprint when he got closer to the door, leaving Tony alone with the one thing he didn't dare to look at - Steve Rogers. 

Death had a new face and it was young and beautiful and friendly and incredibly scary.

_A mutilated body washed to the shore._

Shit _._

Tony kept his eyes fixed on the corpse. His knuckles turned white at the pure force of him clenching his fists, internally screaming at his own brain to THINK! But his head came up empty. This was too much. He didn’t even know what had happened.

“He would have killed you. Sooner or later.” Someone said. It was Rogers, of course, but Tony didn't want to listen. “I couldn't let that happen.” Rogers’ tone was conversational. Was this normal for him? Really? What kind of a man had Tony gotten involved with? What was the Captain even doing here in the first place?  
He had followed Tony, that much was obvious. But why was he so obsessed with him?

Tony didn't look up but he heard Rogers moving and it wasn’t until he stepped right into his field of vision that Tony realised the other man had approached him. Two comforting hands landed on his shoulders, a gesture to soothe and calm him down. Tony wanted to vomit then and there but the rational part of his body screamed at him that he had to act. “Don’t touch me.” He spat out instead. He noted that his voice sounded somewhat afraid. The hands disappeared but the prickling sensation, that he knew was fear, stayed inside his chest. Rogers was dangerous.

“Tony, I would never hurt you”, the man in front of him said and Tony cringed at the use of his nickname. He looked up into those cold blue eyes. The eyes of a murderer - the man who had messed up his life more than his father had managed. It was an unsettling thought.  
Stane was dead, inside a warehouse he just broke into, authorities on their way. And who would be the main suspect? The man with the motive? The person who had stormed into Stane’s office just a few days ago? That one person standing right next to his dead body now!  
This would destroy him. Was that the Captain’s plan? Did he want Tony to be locked up somewhere?

He wanted to scream but he felt like he didn't have enough air inside his lungs. Legs wobbly and eyes tearing up Tony averted his gaze. “Well… aren't you the most charming psychopath?” His laugh resembled a dry sob and maybe it was just that. This was his own damn fault. He shouldn't have trusted the man. He shouldn't have talked to him. His eyes fell on the Jericho and finally his brain clicked into action.

Explosives.

“Move,” he instructed shoving Rogers aside and pulling the gasoline from his bag. He poured generous amounts over the body and tossed the bottle with the remaining liquid towards one of the boxes with explosives inside. He needed to at least divert the attention the break- in and the body would cause. And what better diversion than a good old explosion?

Rogers eyed him. “What are you doing?”

“I said: Move!” Tony didn't feel like explaining. He was running out of time now. His eyes fell back on the Jericho. He couldn't keep it here. The detonation would affect the houses in the area and certainly kill the workers and the department outside. He had to take it with him. He knew the blueprints, though. The missile was way too heavy to lift it alone. Still, he bent over, grabbed it with both hands and prayed for the adrenaline to enhance his strength. But to no avail. Defeated he let go and wiped his hands over his face. This wouldn't work. He would need the extra pair of hands and they would still have to drag the missile through the streets. But Bruce was unavailable now.

He eyed the Captain wearily. He didn't want to. He wanted to get as far away as humanly possible but the sole purpose of him coming here had been to destroy the Jericho. He couldn't just leave it. “You…”, he began and the urge to scream at the man overcame him again. But it wouldn’t help him now. He didn't know which side the Captain truly was on but somehow the man seemed to be keen on _helping_ him. “I need you to lift this with me. We need to get out of here… and fast.”

Rogers had the audacity to smile and he joined Tony’s side only to scoop up the missile like it was merely a piece of luggage. “Lead the way”, he said. This was impossible. He had lifted 200 pounds like it was nothing. Oh well, Tony was getting dizzy now. Instead of fainting, though, he pointed towards the door. Rogers obeyed and made a beeline for it.

Tony hesitated, alone in the warehouse. His head was pounding and his thoughts rushed through his mind at lightning speed. An ugly idea suddenly manifested in his brain, whispering a bittersweet lie:  
_There’s another option._

He could stay. He could end it now. Go out with a bang. Who would be bothered really? His life - his research - was over either way. He pushed the thought aside. This was ridiculous. He was a futurist. He loved life. He had so many things to invent, so much to do. These were just a few really shitty weeks of many beautiful and prosperous years that were still to come.  
He searched his bag for the matches.

The thought stayed. It spoke in Stane’s voice and kept laughing at him.  
_You’re on of those people who live big and die young._ It was true, wasn’t it? He was a dreamer. Thinking about futuristic cities and peace. But the reality was different wasn’t it?

One strike and all his problems would be gone. On flicker and then… nothing. No Rogers. No dead bodies. No FBI. No Stark Industries.

Just the quiet.

He took a deep breath. He would be at peace with it. The pack of matches was a solid form in his palm. He fished one of them out of the box, striking it against the package and the flame sizzled to life. He watched it dance for a few seconds and let go. Stane’s body lit up immediately, or a least the gasoline on his damp clothes. The fire fought its way along the deadly trail towards the box with explosives. It only had to eat through the weak wall of wood now. Just a few seconds.

Another breath and he suddenly found a hand on his wrist and he was dragged towards the exit faster than he could react to. The rain outside hit him with full force and it was too dark for his eyes to focus. He stumbled over his own feet but the hand on his wrist kept dragging him forward relentlessly. He was pulled around the corner of another building when the scenery ignited. The force and the noise of the explosion made him crash into Rogers who had stopped in his tracks.

He heard screams, then the next explosion. There were still several to come but it didn't sound like the workers had been hurt. They were shouting now. It was quite the disaster for the company. Pepper would have to deal with a whole mountain of paperwork tomorrow.

Rogers bowed and dropped the missile down on the wet cobblestone. “Why would you do that?” His voice was a mere whisper but Tony shuddered at the sound of it.  
The next explosion drowned out anything the Captain might have said next. Tony swayed a little on his feet.

“Why would you kill Stane?” was all he managed before all the remaining strings holding him up snapped and he slumped together like a ragged doll. Rogers was there. His arms holding him up and pulling Tony towards his chest. Tony wanted to push him away, but some distant part of him felt solace in the contact. Rogers’ gentle fingers on his back, his grip strong but tentative - exactly what Tony needed right now. The whole situation was an emotional free fall.  
He felt a shudder working its way through his body, making him tremble and twitch until his lungs started to contract and suddenly there was no air.

“Breathe.” He heard Rogers whisper into his ear. But he couldn’t. He had lost all control over his body. Just like he had lost control over his life. There was another explosion, despaired screams for the fire department and a sob amidst his gasps for air. The rain tasted sour and Rogers’ body was cold against his own.

“Mr. Stark..“ The other man tried again. “Tony, breathe with me, okay?”

“Why did you kill him?” Tony choked out. He knew the answer already. But he had to hear it to truly believe it.

There was a long pause and Tony was left with listening to his own rapid breathing and the turmoil back at the warehouse.

“At first, I wanted your help with something,” Rogers answered finally. Of course. Tony didn’t even have enough strength left to be angry. Instead, he felt the Captain smile against his ear. “But you are so incredible, Tony. I found myself wanting to see the future you told me about and I figured, it would never come to existence without you around. And then he… he hurt you. I snapped. I…” Rogers pulled him even closer. “I’m sorry, Tony. I couldn't help myself. This is what I have been created for.”

 _Created._ Tony closed his eyes. His body was a spastic mess and his exhaustion pulled him even further to the ground. He wanted to sleep, to wake up and find out everything had just been a devastating nightmare. “…you’re just like the Jericho.” He felt Rogers flinch but he ignored him. “… what am I gonna do?…Shit.” Another sob, this time, loud and clear. “What am I going to do now?”

Rogers pulled himself together, finally letting go of Tony. “We need to get you somewhere dry and warm. Otherwise, you’re going to catch a cold.” He smiled a little.

Tony felt himself nod.  
__

They moved through the night like they were shadows themselves, Rogers’ hand an iron grip on Tony’s wrist. The Captain had wrapped the Jericho into his own coat. It still looked a little suspicious but better than openly running through the city with a missile. No one seemed to pay attention to them anyway. Tony didn't ask where they were going. He felt strangely detached from his own body like he was simply the audience to a bizarre play about his own life. Sadly, the person playing him did a terrible job in making healthy decisions. Who is their right mind would follow a murderer into some shady parts of town? Then again, Tony didn't feel like he could describe himself as _in his right mind_.  
The current condition of his mind could be described as non-existent. His head was empty.  
He didn't want to think. Everything would come crashing down on him then.

He didn't say anything when they reached a bunker hidden in one of the darkest corners of the city or when Rogers yanked the doors open with ease. Tony wasn’t even surprised when he discovered it was a research bunker. The equipment was dusty and unused. Most of it was extremely expensive and almost everything was Howard’s. Tony would recognise his father's work anywhere. In this case, he had built some of the equipment from scratch. Rogers disappeared into the depths of this thing. The small part of Tony that was still conscious screamed at him to run away, to tell the police about Rogers. But he stayed. He felt incredibly dirty making this decision. Stane’s blood was as much on his own hands than it was on the Captain’s. He should never have said something.

He looked around, dripping a trail of water everywhere we went. The bunker had been cleared out of anything truly interesting. He wouldn't come upon any documents here and he found himself relieved. His curiosity was glutted with information now and he regretted ever setting out on his journey for answers. He should have drowned himself in booze, sex and glamour until the day he finally would have overdosed.

Rogers returned with a towel. “I’m sorry. I wasn't exactly prepared for a visitor.”

“You live here?” Tony didn’t move. He kept staring at the equipment in front of him, paralysed. He was most likely in shock. He had heard Bruce babble about it every time the doctor had been called for an emergency. A little sleep and he would be able to think clearly again.

“Sometimes.” Two hands came around Tony’s torso and started unbuttoning his shirt. It wasn’t sexual. It was cautious and nothing more but the ghost of a touch, like Tony was incredibly fragile china. The intimacy was overwhelming nonetheless, their embrace a sick caricature of their dance only a few days ago. Tony wanted to go back to _Summertime_  and crazy talk by the fire. He resisted the sudden urge to lean against the other man. There was no turning back, not after tonight. 

It wasn’t until Rogers pulled to towel over his shoulders that Tony allowed himself to shiver. “God, you’re cold. You should definitely take a bath or something. Does this place have hot water?"  He finally turned around to find Rogers smiling.

“I’ll do my best to get the heating working. I know, this is normally your expertise...” He strode out of the room and gestured at an old loveseat in one of the corners. “But you should get some sleep. You need it. I’ll be back!”

Tony watched the Captain leave and pulled the towel closer around his frame. Rogers hadn't just been a little cool. He had been ice cold. Either this man had the heat insulation of a piece of paper which was unlikely or… the other possibility was impossible.

The distant voice inside his head had become louder now, screaming: _Run!_

The other possibility was, that Rogers didn't have a pulse.

Tony eyed the loveseat.

He stayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Too bad Stockholm syndrome wasn't described until 1973. Maybe Tony can write his own research papers about it now. ;)
> 
> It can only get even more questionable from here on out!


	5. Interlude One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's break this up a little!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Still writing my thesis! Still working way too much!
> 
> This one's short, the next one won't be.
> 
> Well, okay... you know the drill expect the unexpected!  
> ~ Death, destruction and historical bs!

The silhouettes of the few dozen men kept dancing around the remaining fires like devastating creatures of the night. Their heavy shadows rushed over the cold stone walls. Their shouts ricocheted in the streets, swallowed by the rain turning the grotesque spiel of the helpers working against the flames and smoke into a silent movie. In the early hours of morning, however, the downpour stopped and when the first rays of sunlight kissed the shores, the brigade had finally contained the fire. Daylight brought the voyeurs gathering at the borders of the industrial site. They had been led there by the pillars of smoke which kept on streaming from the ashen remains.

By mid-day, they discovered the remains of a human body. 

Word got out far too quickly. Whispers rushing through the streets, spreading rumors about an accident in the warehouse. _Malfunctioning explosives. Dangerous stuff. One of the guards didn't get out in time. - No. They say it was an arsonist. They say he got caught in his own fire. - Well, the young Stark had it coming after all!_

It was almost 3pm when the black car arrived. 

Agent Phil Coulson stepped out, swinging the door shut behind him. His eyes stony but a little smile playing on his lips. The air tasted of spices that would surely burn his mucosal and redden his eyes. Hidden in the mixture of ash and powder was another smell. One that made his stomach turn: The smell of burned flesh. He didn't turn around to watch Barton exit the passenger’s side. But he heard him cough when the sharp stench hit his lungs. 

“Christ! What the hell was in there?!”

Coulson didn't bother with an answer but he fished a handkerchief from his breast pocket, offering it to Barton. They were about to find out. Only God knew what the biggest weapon’s supplier of the U.S. Army had kept hidden under his sleeve.

He heard Barton cough a few more times. “Do you really think this is our kind of job, Sir? Some random arsonist isn’t really worth our effort. Neither is some stupid accident.” The other man bit out in between breaths. “…gimme a little action already..” He added after a small pause.

Coulson gave him a look. Subtle, small but Barton understood immediately. This was anything but random. Stark Industries had just released the invitations for the revelation of a new weapon’s prototype. A few nights after, their warehouse explodes. Just like that.  
Merely _another_ coincidence. Stark was full of coincidences these days. Barton would soon get all the action he had hoped for.

“Let’s go”, was all he said before he finally made for the blackened, remaining walls of the warehouse. The defeated ‘aww’ Barton sighed out made his mouth twitch. “Try to behave yourself.”

“Always, Sir”, Barton all but purred.

Coulson wanted to laugh at that but he was already standing in front of a young officer right at the battered entrance. The man was shaking, trying to hide it by flexing his muscles. Coulson couldn't figure out whether it was from shock or from just being cold. He showed him his badge. The young man gulped, his eyes bloodshot when he confirmed Coulson's identity. The former, then.

“Good to see you, Agent Coulson.” He nodded shortly, exchanging a look with both agents before continuing. His voice was hoarse from the smoke. “As you might’ve heard, the body was in the center of…well, several explosions. It…well was torn apart and burned… severely.” The smell of burned human was peculiar. Almost impossible to forget once experienced. Something every veteran had brought back home, embedded deep inside their memories. The new fragrance of war and destruction. This young man would never forget it now. ”The face is unidentifiable. Male. Late 50’s, we assume. Not one of the guards. They're all accounted for.” His eyes kept bouncing between the two agents, turning confused in the middle of the report.

The shuffling behind him told Coulson that Barton had decided to leave the listening and talking to him and had moved off to explore the site. As always. He refocused on the officer. “Anything else?”

“We’re currently trying to get in contact with Mr. Stane… or Mr. Stark. He seems to be in town actually… at least according to his butler.” The man tried to hide his discomfort but small tremors kept shaking his body ever so slightly. Coulson almost wanted to release him from this torture. Then again, it was his job. He needed to grow up sooner or later. 

“What was in here?” He asked instead.

“Firearms…explosives. Oh, and some new weapon, apparently. Even the guards don’t really know what it was.”

The new prototype, then. He had expected something with a little more firepower but was glad that civilian casualties had been avoided.  
He nodded, releasing the officer from his predicament and watching him leave towards the area where they were trying to keep the spectators at bay.  
Finally, he entered the warehouse. The stench was worse inside and he felt his head spin. The smell would follow him all day clinging to his clothes, filling up the insides of his car. Even Barton would drag it around with him like it was a parasite that refused to let go.

Uniforms had cleared the place out and had gathered what they could recover from the body. Barton was standing in front of the white linen they had used to pile the parts on. He knelt down covering his mouth and nose with the handkerchief. Coulson stopped next to him.

“Damn, someone left the stove burning.” The other agent coughed out, his voice roughing at the edges. He chuckled a little at his own joke. It didn't sound healthy. Too wet. The smoke was already getting to him. Coulson didn't like it.  
He looked down at the body. The flesh was burned crisp, some chunks missing, others peeling off. It didn’t really resemble a human anymore. Actually, it might as well have been some kind of animal. An ape maybe.  He fished a pen from one of his pockets. Barton took it immediately, starting to poke at the different body parts which crackled with every touch. Coulson watched him. What Barton lacked in demeanor he made up for with his astonishing skills - the most remarkable one being his eyes. Coulson always found himself drawn to them whenever the other man was looking for evidence or scanning the scene.

“Hah!” Barton suddenly stood and buried his hands in his pockets. The handkerchief disappearing with them. He gave Coulson a lopsided smile while shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I’ve seen it before.” He nodded towards a severed arm, the hand somehow only missing a few fingers. “Not often, but I’m 98% sure, I know who this is.” Coulson looked closer until he saw a small gold ring on the hand’s auricular finger.  
Barton grinned at him. ”Take a wild guess!”

“Stane.”

Barton nodded.

Another step towards Stark, then. And another step closer to the end of this cursed mission. Though things were moving faster than expected. They had to be careful now. He turned back towards Barton. “Let’s get back. We still have a few hours before others make that connection.”

Barton shot one of the officers a look. “I guess, this is the part where Nat comes in?”

“I believe so. Come on, let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to Steve and Tony in the next chapter! ;) 
> 
> Btw, is anyone interested in the music I listen to while writing this?


	6. Pyres Pt.1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony gets some answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...yeah. Here‘s an update. Bet you didn‘t see that coming! Hah! 
> 
> Well, life happened: Lost a job. Started another one. Finished my degree. Started working a grown up full-time office job that makes you feel dead inside.
> 
> But I saw every comment and all of the kudos. You guys make me feel like the happiest person on earth, seriously.
> 
> This chapter was painful. I started working on it while working on my thesis and I decided to finish it a few days ago. I‘m actually pretty unsure about posting it, though. Somehow, this little fanfic turned into something really emotional for me. Not really because of the story itself but because I'm really passionate about writing and about telling stories.  
> Over the past few months, I have lost track of that passion. I‘m slowly getting back to it, now. I want to apologize if the chapter isn‘t what you‘re used to or if you find it boring.  
> Nevertheless, I won‘t give up on this story. Actually, I started writing it, because I really wanted to write the grand finale. So stay tuned, if you're still interested in finding out what it is all about.
> 
> Anyways, for better or for worse, this is for you out there!

Tony didn’t remember waking up but he found himself staring at one of his own hands hanging over the edge of the loveseat. Small particles of dust dancing around his fingertips when the faint light of a desk lamp hit them. He must’ve only slept for a few hours but it was impossible to tell inside the faint light of the bunker. The artificial light tricked his senses into believing it was somewhere around late afternoon. But his internal clock told him otherwise. He missed the sunlight already, the feeling of warmth on his skin. Sunlight would be scarce now that it was almost winter. Sadly he suited this location well. He was in hiding like a wounded animal taking its last breaths in the dark of a cave. He felt dirty and alarmingly hollow. There was a raw ache in his chest, nothing physical, just his mind trying to project his thoughts onto his body. He found himself wishing he had been hurt in the explosion. His injuries from the fight with Stane were nothing more than a dull throbbing now.  


Actual wounds, they could be treated and numbed. Psychological wounds, they stayed. Time and life ripped them open, exposing the human core for all to see. And just what would they see?  


He heard movement coming from where he assumed was a kitchen. The thought of food alone made his stomach clench. “Don’t bother”, he whispered and the movement stilled.  


“You’re awake”, came the answer, somehow dimmed through thin walls.  


Tony tore his eyes away from his hand and settled for the gray ceiling which threatened to crush him. He hated being underground. “Maybe. I don’t know.”  


“Well, you should eat. Your body needs the strength. Just let me see what I can find.”  


Tony didn't want to think about Rogers - a murderer, he reminded himself - someone, who would kill a man with brute force, no tools needed. A perfect demonstration of superiority. “I believe you owe me some answers”, he finally croaked. There was no reply and Tony feared Rogers might have ignored his statement until he suddenly spotted the other man standing in one of the corners of the room. He sat up in a flash, cursing under his breath.”Goddammit, Rogers! Do you want me to die from an actual heart attack?!”  


The Captain chuckled. “Sorry, I’m a soldier, remember? Old habits die hard.”  


All of Tony’s reflexes screamed danger at him and he played with the idea of running for the exit. But given the latest turn of events he feared he wouldn't even reach the door. “Really?... I’d rather say you move like a fucking ghost.”  


Rogers was all eyes for him now, a little smile playing on his lips. “Maybe I am just that.”  


They were doing it again: Speaking between the lines. Rogers was enjoying his little private joke, wrapping himself in lies and riddles. God, Tony was so sick of it. “The ghost of whom?” He asked finally trying to sound collected.  


“Steve Rogers.”  


“And who was Steve Rogers?” Irritation fought its way through his inner numbness and Tony was glad to grasp at every straw that was offered to him. Anything was better than this dreaded hollowness.  


The Captain, however, looked down for just a second as if suddenly struck with nostalgia. “Just a kid from Brooklyn.”  


Tony narrowed his eyes watching every shift of muscle of the other man in the shadows. “Look, why don’t we cut the chase? Because you’ve killed a man...in my name, that is. And honestly? I don’t know how many more!” Before Rogers could answer, Tony added: ”And I don’t want to know, okay?! The last time I talked to Bruce, I sent him home, while standing next to a dead body. He’ll be worried sick by now. And...shit!...Pepper! I need to get back. So let’s just skip to the part where you tell me what the fuck you want from me!”  


The smile was wiped from Roger’s face completely and he shifted in obvious discomfort. “Your help.”  


Tony clenched his fists and stood with more grace than he knew he had left. Anger. Anger was good. It didn’t make him feel useless. “Well, we already got that far. How about something new?!”  


“I am dying.” The statement hang between them for a few seconds, throwing Tony a little off balance.  


“Sorry to disappoint you,” he rasped. “But I’m not a medical doctor.”  


“I know-...”  


“So where do I come in? Do you want my pity? You won’t get it. Because there’s this little murder business and it really complicates the whole... sympathy- thing.” Ah, sarcasm, one of the trademarks of Tony Stark. He had to be the very best Tony Stark now more than ever. Otherwise he would be too tempted to crawl back into the loveseat, curl himself into a ball of shame, and never emerge from the pits of his own mind. But he couldn’t. Not now. He had to get back to the hotel, speak to Bruce, and check in with Pepper.  


Rogers finally left his position at the wall and approached Tony with a few sure steps. Tony flinched in expectation the Captain might grab him, but Rogers was simply staring when he came to a halt in front of Tony - eyes calm, no anger in his voice. “You’ve been looking for a weapon haven't you?” His piercing blue eyes made Tony shiver but he straightened his back, ready for anything that might come next. Rogers just kept staring at him. “Well, it ain’t that missile you brought here, Mr. Stark.” Tony furrowed his brow and opened his mouth to ask what he meant, but the Captain beat him to it. “ _I_ am that weapon.”  


Tony almost felt the proverbial punch in the stomach. “You...?” He started but he didn't finish that thought. His eyes fell on the Captain’s biceps and he remembered the superior strength with which the other man had lifted the Jericho the night before. Without thinking he grabbed one of the Captains wrists. It wasn't exactly cold but it wasn't a healthy temperature either. The most disconcerting thing, however, was that he felt...nothing. Tony held his breath and waited. Nothing but his own blood rushing through his ears. He gulped. “You are the weapon?” Understanding must’ve dawned on his face because something changed behind Rogers eyes that turned him into something primal, almost predatory and Tony didn't want to think about it. “My father... he experimented on humans?”  


“Just this one time”, the Captain clarified. “It was a big success but not without faults.” He waited for the information to sink in. ”This is where you come in.” He was standing still watching the shaky rise and fall of Tony’s chest. An unsettling thing to do, yet, Tony couldn't bring himself to move. His mind was still processing all the data available.  


“That project..”, he stated. “The man in the photograph isn't your father. It’s you.” That seemed to surprise Rogers a little but Tony couldn't face him anymore. He let go of the other man’s wrist and turned away, focusing on an empty gas bottle instead. “Oh god... y-you really did serve in the war, didn't you? There really was a biological weapon, just not the kind I was thinking about.” He began pacing through the room, running his hands through his hair cursing under his breath as if it could ground him. “... but....how?”  


“I’m not really that great at explaining it myself but I can show you the notes your father left behind.” Rogers’ tone was conversational again, he was smiling at Tony as if explaining the weather. “I collected them right after his death before anyone else could get to them.”  


Tony felt his head spin. “You...what? Those documents must’ve been somewhere on the island.”  


“Yes.”  


“You’ve been on the island...” Tony felt all control slipping through his fingers once again and his lungs threatened to give up for good. “You’ve been on the island...of cause... You’ve been stalking me. You...-” He lost it. He literally lost all grip on reality and grabbed anything in his reach, throwing it at the Captain. It didn't hit, of course, but it was a message send. "Get. Away.", he gritted out.  


“Tony...”  


“No, don’t you dare ‘Tony’ me!” He kept on throwing, flasks and old leather bags, the towel Rogers had used to dry him with the night before and at last the desk lamp that was the only reliable light source of the room. Both of them drowned in an almost darkness, the bunker’s headlights weren’t strong enough to illuminate everything. They might have been once, but now they only tinted everything in a dark orange, casting thick shadows over Rogers’ face. Tony wanted him to do something, but he kept on standing there, watching. His bottom lip had cracked open when the lamp had hit him. Tony watched the wound closing itself. There was no blood, not a single droplet. He gulped.  


“I just want to help.”  


“With what?! Murdering everyone?! Cause that’s what do, don’t you?” He was now full on shouting at the other man, even though the sudden rush of adrenalin was already leaving his body.  


There was a long silence after that. The only audible things were Tony’s ragged breaths and the distant sound of water boiling somewhere in the assumed kitchen area. “I’m offering you a chance here.” Rogers paused as if expecting Tony would interrupt him. “...to step out of the shadows.”  


Tony felt the corners of his mouth twitch. “Well,... aren’t you the nicest guy?”  


"Aren't you tired of standing in the shadows? Being the guy people laugh at? You are so...so brilliant. But right now, you are nothing but a puppet to those in power.”  


Tony gaped at him, at the proposition. Yes, he was tired. All he wanted was to do was his research the way he liked without having to justify why he did it, why he was living the life he chose to live, or why he loved the people he happened to fall in love with. He was tired of paparazzi, of investors, of old friends of his father’s, of weapons, of the company... And right now? He was tired of Rogers. "So what? Will you kill everyone who dares to look at me the wrong way?" "I will do whatever you want me to do." Rogers' voice was so calm, so sweet... it was almost nauseating. Tony feared for his sanity. He needed to leave and get back to the hotel to check up with his friends. He took one last heavy breath, locking eyes with Rogers. "I will leave now and I want you to stay right here and not do anything until I come back. I... I need to think." He didn't wait for Rogers to respond. He was craving fresh air. It was almost too late when he realized that he was only wearing his trousers. A quick look around revealed his shirt to be thrown onto a chair. He grabbed it, sliding the damp cloth over his shoulders and suppressed a shiver before he finally made for the exit.  


Rogers didn't answer and Tony didn't dare to look back. He all but ran towards the door pushing it open with all his remaining strength.  


Sunlight had never been so bright and the air had never felt so fresh before. If it hadn't been for the obvious pressing matters, Tony would have spent a few hours just strolling through the streets in hopes of finally clearing his head. But he knew he didn't have the time nor would bypassers react positively to the bloodstains and the grime covering his clothes. So he hugged his own frame, trying to hide the worst parts and made through several back alleys to the back entrance of the hotel. Only then he realized that he had no key to his room. He had given it to Bruce without thinking there had been a possibility the two of them would be separated. He hoped that Bruce would still be waiting upstairs. He didn’t want to think about what the last night must’ve been like for Bruce. The whole ordeal with the warehouse was several levels above the doctor’s comfort zone. But leaving a friend with a murderer? That was a whole new level of disturbing.  


Tony decided to wait and he was lucky when one of the staff members opened the door. It was a young boy trying to throw out the trash. Tony slipped inside nodding towards the young man who blinked at him in bewilderment. He didn't give the boy time to react and made for the stairs taking two at a time. He heard a faint _‘Excuse me, Sir?’_ from behind but he reached his floor without much trouble. The corridor was silent. It was midday by now and most of the guests would surely be outside enjoying themselves. There was nothing suspicious about it but Tony glanced at either side of the corridor just to calm his paranoia. Satisfied he approached the door to his room. He gave the handle a contemplative little push finding it locked. The panic he had successfully subdued started to rise again. What if Bruce had run away? Tony wouldn't have held it against him. The whole situation was fucked up. But what if someone had gotten to the hotel before him? What if the police thought Bruce was somehow involved in this? Shit... He was, wasn't he? Tony had dragged him into this mess. What if Bruce was rotting away in some cell waiting for a trial because he was charged with a murder? Just when he was about to lose it yet again the door opened and Bruce's calm brown eyes widened relief. "Tony....Oh...God. I...Gosh, I am so happy to see you!" Before Tony could respond, the other man pulled him into a tight hug, simultaneously pulling him into the room, and closing the door behind them. "I thought...God...I thought..." "Yes...I know." Tony's voice was muffled with his face being pressed against the doctor's shoulder and he couldn't help but feel a warm feeling flush over him. All of the tension in his body seemed to vanish. If it hadn't been for the doctor, Tony was sure he would have slumped down to the floor immediately.  


"The police was here." Pepper's voice. "Mr. Banner didn't open the door, obviously... They were at the company, too. Looking for you." Her arms were crossed over her chest and she was her expression was stern. Bottom lip trembling slightly.  


"I expected as much…"  


“But it’s okay, now,” Bruce said suddenly.  


“Let’s head there right now, okay? You tell them everything you know about that man and everything should be fine, Tony”, Pepper filled in.  


The logical thing to do. The way out. A way to make it stop and go back. The police would start looking for Rogers. If Tony was lucky, he would still be in the bunker. Case closed.  


And Tony could go back to…  


“No…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also: Some of you were actually interested in the kind of music I listen to while writing this. The actual playlist is a mess but I made you some kind of ‘Greatest Hits‘ version and I might add a few more songs to it over the time. (Just a big pile of dark indie covers of pop songs. I am so original XD)  
> You can find it here: https://open.spotify.com/user/tamtonic/playlist/0MjERQSdzv7zXq40a03qt8


	7. Pyres Pt.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony has to face several demons at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn it, spacey, back at it again with the long chapters! - Yeah, I know but this one kinda went all over the place. There‘s also a big chance it might be a teeny tiny bit confusing. Okay, anyways, enjoy.

Pepper gaped at him, hands on her hips, bottom lip trembling slightly. "No?"

Bruce stepped forward blocking Tony‘s view with his body. "He is confused. God knows what he went through? Give him some time", he said with a protective glance over his shoulder.

"Time? We don't have time. It's too late to cancel the event! Right now everyone expects Mr. Stane to make an appearance and you say he is dead! Tony, do you know what my first thought was when Bruce told me? I thought..." Pepper‘s voice was shaking, eyes getting blurry and she whispered: "I thought you killed him."

"He didn't! It was that man, that Captain!"

"I really want to believe that! But here he is after you left him in the warehouse and he looks...fine?" She lifted her arms slightly as if trying to point at Tony and failing miserably. She looked exhausted and this visual was enough to make Tony‘s heart ache. He had long since crossed the line of only endangering himself. He had made Pepper and Bruce his accomplices in... whatever he was doing right now.  
Pepper shook her head, a few of her ginger strands falling out of her neat updo. "And if the police find out about Mr. Stane..."

Tony's mind finally kicked into action. "So they don't know yet?"

Her mouth fell open, the tears finally breaking free and rolling over her pale cheeks. "You can't be serious... Did you... did you hire that guy to do your dirty work?!"

Bruce stilled next to him. He must've been thinking the exact same thing. And Tony knew this was what it looked like. A total stranger with combat training suddenly turning up and killing the very man who was standing between Tony and the company. Rogers didn't have a rational motive... in contrast to Tony.

He started shaking himself, running his hands over his face unable to make eye contact with either of them. And he gulped it down. The panic. The helplessness. _Be strong. Be strong_ \- the never-ending mantra inside his head. "You've known me for years. Both of you. So I'm asking you: Would I?" He dared to look up. His heart sinking to his stomach when both of them stared at the floor, their faces scrunched in thought. He knew he was asking a lot of them and he was about to ask for so much more.  
He needed to take advantage of this situation. It was his one chance to turn the wheels of his life around. His one chance to change things.

He wasn't a stranger to the concept of 'rebellion'. In fact, his mother had raised him to always question authority, to strive for a better, ideal world. She herself had been born too soon. She had been trapped in a time that viewed her as something lesser, a tool to men. A means to create an heir. Even if she had been tied down by the society of her time she had taught him everything. It was something most people got wrong about Tony: He was awed by women, by their strength. This was the reason he enjoyed their company so much, not because he saw them as objects. But with everything Tony believed in he wasn't really good at protecting it.  
His mother's ideals had been the fuel for his utopian future. A world of peace. But all he had done up to this point was watching. Watching and drinking the memories away. The truth was he had never tried. Not really. He had accepted that he was powerless in the face of the corruption of his own company. He had chosen apathy and now he was paying the price.  
One childish mistake. One. And it was out there, now. Part of the machine.  
Yesterday had been so much easier. Yesterday, Obadiah Stane had been an obstacle, a foe. Today, he was dead and it was on Tony. Because of his curiosity when it came to the Captain. Because of his ignorance when it came to the company. He should have known better. _He should have done more._ He was about to.  
"The short version is: I got involved with the wrong man. But... I'm handling it. Don't worry."

"Handling it?!" Now Pepper sounded angry again. "Mr. Stane is dead!" Bruce didn't look up, nor did he say anything. His hand slowly slipping from Tony's shoulder.

"I KNOW!" Tony cried out, his voice hoarse. "And I didn't mean for it to happen, Pep. But it did and I have to sort it out, okay? I promise, at some point, there will be authorities involved."

"That's hardly reassuring!"

"I am asking you as a friend." He approached her, stepping around Bruce and slowly reaching for her hands. Her eyes flickered towards the washed out bloodstains on his clothes. She flinched ever so slightly but she let him embrace her hands with his own. "I don't understand it myself. I wish I could. But this is about more than me, about more than Stane...I know, my father is involved. I know it's something classified. Might even be military stuff. I don't know who this Rogers- guy really is... But I do know, that I need to sort it out before I'm giving him over to any official channel...Please trust me on this one...Please. You don't have to lie... Just..." He sighed heavy and far too wet for his liking. "Forget about the whole thing. The company needs you. Just think of the backlash we will certainly face. Don't do it for me. Do it for Stark Industries. The whole story is unbelievable either way. And I bet you have a lot to prepare for the revelation event."

"With Stane dead and the prototype stolen, I fear there isn't much of an event."

"Actually, I have something to say", Tony all but whispered. With her jaw locked tight and her eyes on fire Pepper was staring at him. He struggled on his stance. "I want to shut down all weapons production of Stark Industries effective immediately. We will concentrate on means of transportation and energy in the future."

Her eyes widened with every word and she pulled her hands from his grip. "You‘re insane!" She screamed wiping the tears from her face in a slow, almost painful motion. Tony's eyes followed her fingers as they fell from her cheeks only to dangle next to her torso uselessly.

Silence.

"You might be right." He heard himself say still staring at her, hoping for understanding, for an opening, for compromise. Anything.

"I‘m out." She said finally. "Consider this my resignation."

"Pepper..."

"No, Tony!" She closed her eyes for a brief moment taking a few deep breaths. "I‘m sorry. I really am. I believed in you. I believed you could be better than the rumours. Turns out you're worse." Her stance straightened and she suddenly looked prouder and stronger than ever before. Tony knew this was it. She was gone. Their relationship shattering to billions of pieces at this very moment. Beyond repair. "You're a coward, Tony. Too caught up in not being like your father that you've lost track of what's important. We‘re on the brink of war, you know that damn well, and you can't win wars without weapons. That‘s just how it is. Good luck figuring out the paperwork with the Colonel."

Tony winced as Pepper turned to gather her coat. She gave Tony one last glance before leaving him and the doctor without any parting words.

"Well...it's for the best anyway." He said after a while. "And it's not like she isn't right... about me being a coward that is."

The room fell into a heavy silence. Tony was almost sure Bruce would leave, too until the doctor‘s hand returned to his shoulder. "...I don‘t understand a whole lot about weapons or about the political implications of shutting down production... but I was there yesterday. I saw your reaction." He sighed as if reassuring himself. It was heavy and raw and made Tony want to apologize in every way possible. "I do believe you have your reasons for acting like this."

Tony stared at him and suddenly he couldn't contain his feelings anymore. He pulled Bruce into his arms. "I'm sorry...", he whispered. "I'm sorry for dragging you into this." Bruce's hands rested on his back and the doctor took several sharp breaths.

"I'm not gonna lie. It was the most terrifying night of my life." He nodded to himself, his glasses sliding down on his nose. "But... if there is anything I can help you with.."

Tony gulped again and closed his eyes for a brief moment. He braced himself against the wave of guilt in face of what he was about to ask of his friend. 

"I have to show you something."

_

Tony had hoped the bunker would feel a little more inviting upon returning. But it was still a bunker, dark and triste. Rogers didn't seem to have bothered to replace the broken lamp. The rooms were still clad in a blanket of shadows and the man in question was nowhere to be seen. Tony prayed he was still there.  
Bruce was beside him, his doctor's bag in one hand, his coat in the other. He was fidgeting ever so slightly and glancing at Tony. "Is he really here?"

"I sure hope so. I told him to stay." He shook off his own coat. He had finally taken the time to wash up and change clothes. The crisp suit masked his fatigue and a high collar hid what was left of his encounter with the now dead Mr. Stane. There was only so much he could do to hide the dark circles under his eyes but Tony could always pass them off as a product of nights worth of alcohol and parties. "Rogers!" He shouted into the darkness and after only a few seconds the very man emerged from the far end of the bunker. He too had opted for a much more bloodless suit and he looked as crisp and proper as the first time they met. Tony gulped. "Doctor Banner is here to examine you. If you so much as lift a finger against him, I swear I will..." Actually, he didn't know what the end of his threat was.

Rogers smiled. "Thank you, Doctor, for looking after me."

Bruce readjusted his glasses, taking another breath. "N-no need to thank me yet." After a few seconds of contemplation, he finally approached Rogers and gestured towards the love seat that had been acting as Tony's bed the night before. "Sit down, please." Rogers obeyed without an argument and smiled towards Tony.  
Placing the bag on one of the dusty desks Bruce rummaged through his equipment. "Tony told me, you weren't feeling well." He sighed. "He also told me you don't have a heartbeat."

"I guess, you can find that out yourself, Mr. Banner." Rogers' smile didn't falter, eyes still fixed on Tony. "I guess he also told you that I am the product of human experimentation." He finally turned towards Bruce who was fumbling with a stethoscope. 

"Yeah", the doctor said the same time Tony mumbled:"We'll see about that." He leaned against the nearest wall, crossing his arms over his chest and refusing to lock eyes with Rogers. Bruce started the examination, mumbling and nodding to himself, shining a flashlight into the Captain's eyes and poking and prodding his arms. 

"I doubt I will be able to draw blood..."

Rogers stifled a laugh and Tony decided he had enough. "What's so funny about that, huh? You wanted my help and I got you an actual doctor. But instead of cooperating you laugh at us? Do you know what I'm risking here?"

Rogers smiled back at him, somehow fond. "I know and I can't thank you enough."

"You can thank me by talking."

Rogers chuckled in response and the sound made the hair on Tony's back stand up straight. "Now."

"I'm dead", Rogers said, his voice suddenly hoarse. The smile still sat on his face but it was dulled, almost looking sad. "I died at the age of 27 due to an asthma attack. I wasn't the healthiest fella, to begin with, but when my health got worse I decided to be at least of some use to my country. So..." He faltered for a moment and focused on the floor. "I offered my body for medical research in case of...you know..."

Bruce had fallen silent, flashlight still in hand, his eyes wandering between Rogers and Tony. The Captain sighed. "The next thing I know, I wake up in a room full of scientists... Faster, stronger." He gestured at himself. "They tell me I'm part of a program to create advanced soldiers and at first everything goes well...Until the hunger sat in."

Bruce and Tony stood there in silence, eyes fixed on the Captain waiting for him to go on and when he didn't the doctor finally asked: "...for what?" Rogers looked up a little startled as if he had forgotten the doctor was even there. Tony knew the answer already although he didn't want to hear it.

"For blood." Rogers cleared his throat. "...and it's getting worse. I'm losing control more often than not. Your father was looking for a way to fix me but he's gone now."

Tony felt his mouth twitch. He wanted to start laughing but at the same time, the room started spinning. The word _vampire_ , unspoken, loomed over the room. Ridiculous. Impossible. There was only so much he could take. Rogers wanted him to believe that his father had not only experimented on the dead but he had created a flesh eating monster? The laughter caught in Tony's throat turned into a gag, the floor underneath his feet suddenly felt like liquid, and he sank. But it made a twisted sort of sense. The strength. The bodies. The missing pulse. It was too late when he realised that the feeling was actually his legs that had given up under his weight and he found himself in Rogers' arms once again. _Vampire_

"He needs to lie down!" He heard Bruce's voice from somewhere.

Somehow the room seemed darker than before but Tony figured it was just his vision slowly fading.  
"I'm sorry, Mr. Stark", Rogers whispered into his ear. "This was too much, wasn't it?"

"...I don't believe you...", Tony managed to croak out. "I want to see proof." This couldn‘t be true. He couldn‘t allow this to be true. He had enough to deal with already to consider the impossible. Hands shaking he tried to push Rogers away. Today was the revelation and he had yet to think of an approach to address his plans. There was the inevitable investigation and he had yet to think of an alibi. He pushed himself upwards, his legs wobbly when he tried to stand and then-...

Nothing. 

_

"Mr. Stark? Mr. Stark, are you alright?"

There was loud music and people were passing him by. He was standing in a large foyer. A decadent display of long red curtains and golden mirrors. His dress short clang to his sweat covered skin, his breath ragged. Where was he? He looked around frantically, the faces of the people around him a blur, the music a buzz.  
He was at the Stark Industries event hall. But how? Why? Last thing he remembered he had been with Bruce and that... in the bunker. He tried to blink his vision clear.

"Mr. Stark?"

He finally looked at the owner of the voice. A waitress with ruby red hair. She smiled politely and something poked in the back of Tony's head. But he didn't know what it was. "Excuse me?"

"Are you feeling alright, Mr. Stark?" she repeated the smile never faltering.

"Ah...yes. Thank you." Only then he realized she was offering him a glass of champagne. He eyed the drink, still confused. "I think I'll pass but thank you very much." He returned her smile hoping it would look genuine, the corners of his mouth twitching. Already back to being lost in thought he almost didn't hear her reply. 

"Big day, today, isn't it? I mean for the company."

"...what?..."

"Big day for you I mean" Again, with the smile and Tony blinked in bewilderment. But before he could dig any deeper, she turned. "Have a nice evening, Mr. Stark."

Right. The Revelation.

He looked ahead trying to get his breathing back under control and flexing his fingers. Was he really here? Had he really been in the bunker? Maybe he was still in his bed having fever dreams because his fight with Stane had left worse injuries than he had thought at first. That was the only logical explanation. Why else would the last two days feel like a tangled mess of hours and slipping in and out of consciousness? Why else would the guy he met at the funeral turn out to be a killer? Why else would he be here eager to destroy the work of his father's life? 

"Tony!" Another cheerful voice. An arm came around his shoulder making Tony flinch. This time he had no problem identifying the person. He could feel the bile rising from his stomach. Justin Hammer beamed at him, all fake smiles and perfect teeth. "Tony, Tony, Tony...", he sing-songed. "Please don't be offended but... you look like shit. I heard what happened at that warehouse. That's a bad omen if you ask me. But I'm surprised to see you, to be honest. Didn't think you would actually step up to the game, huh? Did Stane convince you?" Tony didn't answer but Hammer didn't seem interested in actual conversation either. He started steering Tony into the hall. 

"Tough job, isn't it? Actually working? One false move and you're yesterday's headlines, pal." He patted him on the shoulder and Tony had to grit his teeth to not punch him in the face. "I hope your new prototype lives up to everyone's expectations... otherwise it's bye bye, Stark - Hello, Hammer Industries! No hard feelings, right? Right? By the way!" He turned Tony towards himself eyeing him up and down somehow in appreciation. "You here all by yourself? That's so unlike you!" He nodded towards a young blonde woman standing near the buffet a glass of champagne in her hand. Tony knew her. She was a journalist. Christine Everhart. "My date." He added grinning madly and this time patting Tony's biceps.

Tony gulped, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. "Sorry, you're not really my type." Swatting Hammer's hands away he turned around to grab himself a glass of champagne from the tray of the nearest waiter. Maybe blackout drunk was the way to go with this event, maybe it was the way to go with everything. He downed the drink in one go, all too aware of Hammer's eyes on him. 

The other man nodded in agreement, ignoring Tony's comment. "Now, that's more like it. I had feared you had suddenly turned into a party pooper!" He laughed. "Boo! Right? Right." Another laugh and Tony resisted the urge to through the glass at him. Instead, he got himself another one, ready for the alcohol to make that decision for him. But as soon as he lifted the champagne towards his lips the glass was snatched out of his fingers. There was a hand on the small of his back and Tony blinked into by now familiar icy blue eyes.

"There you are. I was looking for you." Rogers smiled and nodded towards Hammer. "You suddenly ran off and I lost you." Tony caught a faint memory of himself running through the streets seemingly aimless. Was that what had happened? Had he dashed away? Or had this been a memory of him running away this morning? He hummed something in response. Rogers' Hand was heavy against the fabric of his suit. Just like the night before, the touch didn't seem sexual at all. It felt like Rogers was holding him up so Tony wouldn't fall. He let it happen.  
Rogers offered the champagne to Hammer who simply blinked at him. "Captain Steven Grant Rogers, hello."

Hammer took the glass, still confused, and smiled back weakly. "Justin Hammer. But I take it, you know who I am."  
Tony wanted to gag or to scream, he wasn't sure which one. He did neither, however, feeling strangely disconnected from his body.

"No I don't", Rogers answered with the most dashing smile and he turned back towards Tony. "Let's find our seats, shall we?" 

Tony didn't know if it was a good or a bad sign that he rather spent time with a murderer than with Hammer but he let the Captain steer him towards a gathering of tables bearing his name. He almost fell into the nearest chair, his head aching. Rogers' hand had moved from his back to his shoulder and this time, he _was_ holding him upright. Tony head swayed a little until he found the Captain's face looking at him with the most earnest expression of worry he had ever seen.

"Are you okay?"

"No,... no, I'm not." He looked across the room towards the flower clad stage, a sign at the podium reading _Obediah Stane_. "Bruce...?"

"In the bunker. Confused, shaken but also intrigued."

"He is a scientist. What do you expect? Don‘t think for a second he buys your.. blood-drinking bullshit. He is smarter than this." 

"He‘s working through a few medical reports right now. Believe me, there are more than enough. The major ones are on Stark Island, but..." He stopped when he saw Tony shaking his head.

"I don‘t have the strength to do this right now." He looked around. "I have to...I-... I don‘t know what I‘m doing here..."

Rogers fell silent for a few seconds. "Look,...Why don't you try telling me?" Rogers' free hand found one of Tony's and he pressed it firmly. His whole presence was soothing, his voice like silk, his eyes surprisingly warm for their color. Tony wanted nothing more than to forget the last few days, to start over.

"I don't want to make weapons." His voice was shaking. "I want to shut down the production and ...listen, I know that it's-..."

"Do it."

Tony blinked.

"Leave the war to the soldiers. I will trust you to shape whatever comes after. I told you already: I want to see you rise. Whether you believe I‘m simply your little stalker or whether you believe I‘m a monster - this is the truth." Rogers' smile was open and hopeful. 

Someone cleared their throat into a microphone and Tony‘s head snapped towards the stage. A skinny Stark Industries employee shuffled nervously behind the podium like a deer caught in the lights. Pepper's substitute. "W-welcome Ladies and Gentlemen to the annual Stark Industries revelation event. We hope you have all found your way towards us, safely" he all but yelped. "...um...without further ado I'd like to ask Mr. Obadiah Stane to the stage...Mr. Stane?"

"Even if you decide to leave me to die, Tony." Rogers whispered next to him. "The future needs people like you."

Tony inhaled heavily. "You‘re being dramatic...Also..don‘t think for one second that I trust you." Rogers‘ smile softened even more.

The audience became alive, looking around in search of Stane some whispering to each other.

Tony exhaled. "But...You scratch my back, I scratch yours...right?"

And he stood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know that I originally planned this out to be a three chapter fic? I know, I can‘t believe it myself. Originally there was no Stark Industries plot a lot more ambiguity especially concerning Steve and an alternative version, where he's the real (dracula-esque) deal. But I‘m more of an old school gal. So, well, you have to live with what I gave you!
> 
> Leave a comment if you‘re confused, angry with me, disappointed that Steve doesn‘t sparkle in the sunlight, or if you actually like this story! ;) OR: visit me on tumblr. (Suprise: It‘s also _spaceywaffles_! I‘m original like that)
> 
> P.S.: Why is Hammer in this? 
> 
> I DON‘T KNOW! I WISH I COULD ANSWER THAT QUESTION MYSELF!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this chapter! Feedback is much appreciated! :)


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